The Wolf and the Jackal: ACIII: Book II
by MetalSetter
Summary: Two years ago, Courtney was sent back in time by a mysterious Piece of Eden. Now, she works for peace between the Assassins and the Templars. But more obstacles are coming - from unexpected places. Will she be able to unite the orders and protect her fellow Templars? Or will she be forced to watch them - and her dreams of peace - die? (M for canon-typical violence)
1. Chapter 1: Williamsburg and Delacroix

Jules Delacroix. I spent the better part of a month fishing for information on the sleazy little man. Connor assisted, of course, but I was better at blending in with the crowds of Williamsburg than he was - white hoods didn't help one blend in much. Instead, he stuck to intercepting letters and swiping documents from those who claimed to be close to the man. Few proved to be of any real use, as the vast majority were about people's debts to him. And there were quite a few who owed him.

Plenty knew of Delacroix in Williamsburg, though few actually knew him. He seemed to dislike associating with those he deemed to be of a lower class than him, and often had a sneer on his face when he was out and about. He was a greedy type of guy, a gambler with a penchant for cheating those around him out of as much money as he could. He hired men to extort money from those he claimed were "indebted" to him and hadn't payed up by the time they were meant to, which often meant the poor soul had to pay significantly more - sometimes double or triple the original amount - as a "late fee."

When I would spot him in public, he'd be accompanied by a small number of guards, armed with the latest and greatest in muskets, pistols, and swords. He wasn't paranoid so much as proud, I came to learn. He enjoyed reminding the lower class who he was. Of course, that made it trivially simple to pick him out from the crowd; the expensive clothing, ghostly pale skin - paler than even mine -, and bright blond hair separated him from the commoners as much as his bodyguards.

I'd keep my head down, follow him from afar. In the first couple of weeks in Williamsburg, I came to learn he owned a rather impressive estate outside of town. Guards patrolled the edge of his property night and day, but my training let me slip through more than once, despite a handful of close calls with some rather bored guards. I never got terribly close to his manor, though. Some many meters around the house were clear of any cover I could have used, and the way the guards were stationed left little opportunity to slip through.

Taking down Delacroix would be difficult, to say the least. Connor and I spent most of August trying to find some way or another to break into the building undetected, though our late-night scoutings were unsuccessful. Then, we struck gold - figuratively, of course.

I was in the market late one afternoon, trying to track down anything I could find about Delacroix. Whether it was fate or simple coincidence, I overheard his name dropped by a trio.

"Delacroix's planning on hosting another one of his parties in December." A portly man said.

"Let me guess, only 'the colonies' finest' are welcome, right?" The local seamstress sneered.

"It's Delacroix, of course he wants to keep out us street-goers." The man replied.

The seamstress snorted. "After all the work I've done for that man, you'd think I'd at least get some table scraps for my efforts. Damn that bastard."

A second woman, an innkeeper from across town, rolled her eyes. "Now, now, Helga, would you really want to be surrounded by all those snooty 'friends' of his, anyway? One of them will stab him in the back one of these days, mark my words."

The man nodded. "The cheat'll get what's coming to him. Best not to be around when it happens."

I left them at that, having found the opening I'd need. My feet carried me to the small, decrepit inn Connor and I had called home for the last two months. As I'd expected, he was perusing the documents he'd collected over the past week in the confines of our shared room.

He looked up as I approached. "Courtney." A loud fwump and the low groaning of the ropes supporting my mattress marked my ungraceful fall on to my bed.

"I think I found something. We might need to contact Haytham, though." I told him.

He continued to sift through the papers scattered on his own mattress. "The party?"

My face scrunched into an expression of false betrayal as I sat up. "Wow, you knew about it before I did? And didn't even tell me? Gods, Con, I thought we had something."

My expression brightened and I chuckled at myself while Connor's eyes rolled. "I will take that as a yes." He said flatly. "It seems it is being planned for the 17th of December. Are you certain we could arrange for… whatever it is you have planned before then?"

"It's like, three months away! Of course we can." I scoffed, running my hand through my dark hair. I hadn't gotten it cut for a few months, and it was long enough to get in my eyes fairly often. I'd have to find a barber soon, or cut it myself - though my skills with anything save an electric clipper suggested that was a bad idea.

"What is it you would be asking of my father?" Connor asked, snapping me from my thoughts.

"Haytham owns land in Virginia, meaning it's possible Delacroix might let him in-or someone related to him, anyway." A grin found its way to my face as he organized the papers into little piles.

Connor's brow furrowed. "'Someone related to him?' You mean me?"

"One of us, anyway. I was thinking I could pass as his kid somehow and get in. It'd be a good way to use all those damned lessons on 'etiquette' I was forced into back before I was allowed to pick up a sword." In retrospect, they'd proven useful for navigating the era, but I could still recall Etienne's disdain for my crude sense of humor. The thought was soon replaced by another that made my grin return. "Although, now that you mention it, I wouldn't mind seeing you in a tuxedo."

"What is a tuxedo?" He asked confusedly.

I sighed. "Formal-wear in my time; that was supposed to be a joke."

"Ah, I see. Haha." The corners of his lips twitched upwards when I shot him a glare. He could be snarky when the mood struck him.

"Hilarious, I know." I deadpanned. "When will you be ready to leave?"

"At any time. I would prefer we leave sooner rather than later, if only so I may check in with my village." He replied. Over the past couple of months, the deal between Johnson and the Kanien'kehá ka had faded to the back of my mind. I offered him a small smile.

"For what it's worth, Johnson's always seemed like a good man to me. It would surprise me if he did allow any harm to come to your people." I spoke softly.

"I will keep that in mind." He didn't look at me for a moment. "If any the Templars go back on their word, I will kill them. Even Haytham or you. You are aware of that, correct?"

"Yes." I paused. "Though I hope it doesn't come to that."

"As do I." He said quietly.

After a moment of silence, I stood. "Right. Sad, mildly threatening talks aside, we should get packed and ready to leave by morning. No reason to waste time sitting around, right?"

He nodded. "Not even a moment."


	2. Chapter 2: Reporting In

When we did arrive back in the frontier between New York and Boston, we parted ways; Connor went to visit Kanatahséton and see how the deal had affected them, and I headed for Boston.

The streets were crowded when I arrived, people had traveled from deep in the frontier to sell their recently-harvested crops. Potential customers bartered and bickered in equal measure with merchants as I weaved my way through the throngs of people. It was nice to be back on the familiar streets. I had to make a few detours to prevent running pedestrians over with Antony, thanks to the many people on the narrow roads. The poor horse would whinny in protest each time I jerked the reins a bit too fast, just in time to keep his hooves from stomping on a harmless civilian.

After some time working my way through the streets, I finally came to the tavern. I hopped off Antony, though I didn't unsaddle him before tying him to the post out front. This wouldn't take long, with any luck. I entered the building quietly. The barkeep nodded to me as I passed him, recognizing me from all the time I'd spent here in the past couple years.

Thomas and Charles were the only ones present at the table as I sat. I reached for the former's mug and swiped it away before he could stop me. I grinned as he glared.

After taking a long drink of the beer, I slid it back towards him. "Do either of you know where Haytham is?" I asked as Thomas drained the mug of the last of the liquid.

He belched before he answered. "He's at old Willy boy's funeral." Charles shot him a nasty look, and I was half-certain he was about to smack the drunkard upside the head.

I stared for a moment. "William's dead?" William had been kind to me when I'd first gotten involved with the Order. He hadn't been killed, had he?

Charles nodded. "He'd been in bad health even before the negotiations in July, but throughout the past month, his health declined rapidly. He died of a stroke while with his children one morning."

While still saddened to hear of his death, it was a relief to know that he hadn't been murdered. "It must have been awful for them to witness." I paused, concern washing over me at a sudden thought. "What of the land he purchased in July?"

"Given to Master Kenway in his will; it was wise of him to write one up during those last weeks. The Grandmaster is looking for one of our brothers to take over the care of it and the people living upon it." He said. I was well aware that there were those among the Order who were outwardly bigoted towards the native peoples. Hell, I'd met a couple during the courier-work I'd done in the past. For the sake of the Kanien'kehá:ka, I hoped Haytham found a suitable replacement for William before anyone caused issues.

"Any idea when we can expect him to return?" My fingers drummed on the surface of the table. Time wasn't quite so tight for me right now, but I preferred to get things done as soon as I could.

"The next few days, perhaps. You'd be a welcome change of company if you stayed here to await his return." Charles cast a hard glance at Thomas, who merely grinned at him.

"Yeah, Charlie here's a bit too stuck-up to have fun with riff-raff like the two of us. Be nice to have one of my drinking buddies around to pass the time." Thomas sneered at Charles as he spoke. The two entered a tense stare down for a moment.

"As much as I'd like to, I have a few other things to take care of first. I'll drop in again if I can finish it all." I stood. The two men uttered quick goodbyes before going back to what they'd been doing prior to my interruption.

I stopped by Antony to retrieve my saddle bag -and to slip him an apple, which he appreciated- and headed towards the nearest general store, eager to replenish the bullets and arrows I'd lost on my way to Boston and sell the collection of meat, pelts, and other animal parts I'd collected along the way. There weren't a whole hell of a lot of _people_ that had wanted Connor or me dead -yet-, but the wildlife could be a different story. Very few creatures in the forests of colonial America were as harmless as the rabbits along the roads. Not to mention, it was easier to travel when you hunted your dinner down the day you ate it. Hauling several days' worth of food weighed you down, made you slower. It wasn't something one could always afford in our line of work.

I walked in, nodding to the shopkeeper in greeting before laying the bag on the counter. He leaned forward as I opened the bag. As the various pelts, claws, teeth, meat, and a set of antlers were laid out, I haggled with the man, trying to get the best prices for everything I had. It wasn't wise to take the first offer they gave you, especially if they seemed unsure of themselves. This one? Very unsure.

By the end, the haul had paid for the replacement ammo, a couple apples, and then netted me some extra money to boot. The walk back was more pleasant, the saddle bag slung over my shoulder a little lighter. Sunlight struck the roads beneath my feet at an angle as the day came to a close. To the east, dark blue crept slowly towards the west, where the sun stained the scarce clouds in rich hues of yellows, pinks, and oranges. Buildings obscured a truly good view, but the cooling air was nice enough that I found myself not caring.

My mind was so preoccupied with the tranquility of the scene that I was surprised by a body ramming into my own.

Words started tumbling out of my mouth as I recollected my thoughts."Sorry, sorry, my bad-"

"Courtney?" The person asked. I stepped back to look at them.

"Greg? Why are you in Boston?" I asked. He'd been the boy back on the _Aquila,_ the one who'd shown me to my room. He was scarce throughout my time aboard the vessel, usually taking care of work below deck.

"I have work here with my brother. He works at a fishery, and since the _Aquila_ hasn't been busy in a while, I came to work alongside him." He explained. His eyes raked over me, as though in disbelief that I was really here. "Why're _you_ here?"

I decided that it would be best to be vague for now as I answered. "Connor and I finished part of a job. I'm waiting for my-" The smallest moment of hesitation went unnoticed by the boy before me. "Commanding officer to arrive. I have to report to him, then receive my orders."

His brow furrowed, eyes flickering over me in confusion. "'Commanding officer?' You work in the military…?"

A small smile crossed my face. "Not the military. We're more of a… _private_ organization."

I began walking again, and he followed, curiosity written on his face. "What kind of work do you do?"

"It's all very hush-hush. Afraid I can't really tell you much." I said apologetically.

"That's what Connor always says about his work, too. Why do you both have to keep secrets?" He pouted.

I chuckled. "It's hardly our fault you're sticking your nose in our business."

His mouth opened, then snapped shut, an indignant look on his face despite his silence.

Finally, we came upon the Green Dragon. The bag I'd been holding fell to the ground, my now empty hands moving to undo the buckles on Antony's saddle. He nickered quietly as I finally removed it, seeming to almost sigh in relief when it was fully in my hands.

"What's his name?" Greg asked. Antony nuzzled into my hand as I stroked his face.

"Antony." I told him. A grin worked its way onto my face. "Wanna pet him?"

Greg nodded enthusiastically, reaching to run his hands down Antony's neck. He marveled at how soft the rust colored fur was. "You must take good care of him." He murmured.

The bag was picked back up and slung over my shoulder once more as I spoke."He's the only horse I've got, so I try to make sure he's happy." Antony tossed his head and pawed at the ground - horse-speak for something along the lines of "You better make sure I'm happy," I supposed.

After a few more moments -during which, I gave Antony the apples I'd bought, allowing Greg to feed him one-, I took note of how dark it had grown. The faintest glow of orange was the only hint that the sun hadn't quite set yet, everything else was bathed in dark blues.

"It's a bit late, so I think it's about time to call it a night." I said.

Greg nodded. "It was nice to see you again, Courtney."

"Likewise. Get home safe, Greg." I called after the boy as he hurried away. After readjusting my hold on the bag and picking the saddle up off the ground, I headed inside to get a room and some food.


	3. Chapter 3: Back to Virginia

Four days passed excruciatingly slowly. Most of my time was spent drinking with Thomas, playing poker with Charles, and venturing outside to stretch my legs. Greg stopped by a couple times, eager to visit with Antony, who accepted his treats of oats and petting just as eagerly.

Thomas and I had sat down to drink and swap stories, my own highly revised to hide my origins. By the time Haytham walked up the steps that fourth day, I was certain a couple patrons were annoyed by our outbursts of cawing laughter.

Haytham appeared surprised to see me as he sat down. "Courtney. I don't suppose your mission is what brought you here?"

I straightened up in my seat. "As a matter of fact, it is." Thomas remained reclined in his seat, feet propped up on the table as he listened in. "It seems Delacroix will be hosting a party -a ball, I mean- in December. I thought we might use it as an opening to get into his manor."

Haytham nodded thoughtfully. "A good idea. If killing him is necessary by then, it may get a bit… tricky with so many people around, however." His eyes refocused on me. "I'm not quite sure why you deemed it imperative to stop in Boston, though."

"He'll only be inviting those with land to their name. As I own no land, you can see how that might be a bit of a problem." My lips quirked up in irony as I spoke.

Haytham snorted quietly. "So you came to me, someone who does."

"Exactly." I said. His fingers drummed on the table-top as he tossed the idea around in his head.

"I have received an invitation from the man in the past; it seems he invites anyone he could find that owned a decent amount of land in Virginia." He paused. "It would be possible to claim that you're my child, and have you granted access." He suggested. "Though, we'd need to find a dress, teach you to dance, proper etiquette for the event, find a man to accompany you..."

Internally, I groaned at the thought of being forced through more lessons in etiquette. Etienne was a good teacher, and pleasant enough to be around, but the lessons themselves drove me up the wall. That wasn't the most confusing thing to me, though.

"I don't really need a man with me, do I? That seems like it could get a little tedious, if it's not someone in our fold." I also didn't like the idea of having someone looking over my shoulder, regardless of whether they were a Templar or not.

"It isn't… proper for a woman to attend a ball alone. She should be accompanied by the man who arrives with her throughout the night, unless she is dancing with another man -which you should be. Anything else would draw more attention than we would want." He explained.

"I, for one, gladly volunteer to accompany our little prophet to the occasion." Thomas chimed in, slinging an arm around my shoulder and dragging me halfway off my chair in the process.

Haytham's expression turned a comical kind of critical as he looked at Thomas, and I couldn't help a smirk as I struggled out of Thomas' hold. "On second thought, perhaps it would be best if I or even Etienne accompanied you."

The smug grin on Thomas' face transformed into an offended scowl and he threw his hands up in exasperation, finally freeing me. "I can be as fancy as you. I just choose not to be most of the time."

Haytham ignored him. "In any event, your company is the least of our concerns right now. Right now we should be focusing on teaching you etiquette and waiting for the invitation so we can send a reply to Delacroix."

"Does it have to be formal?" I asked.

" _Yes_ , Courtney, it _must_ be formal, no matter how amusing whatever you have in mind could be." Exasperation was dripping from Haytham's every word.

"Dang." I muttered.

He shook his head, a common occurrence when I was in the room. "Anyway, back to more important matters. Do you have any other information on Delacroix?"

"Mostly regarding how many people owe him. He's very fond of cheating people out of their hard-earned money, and quite a few people are bitter about it." My hand reached into my pocket, grabbing the more important documents Connor and I -mostly Connor- had collected during our time in Williamsburg and setting them on the table.

Haytham began to skim over them. "Yes, William had said as much before he passed." He glanced up at me. "My apologies, were you aware-"

I interrupted him. "Charles and Tommy told me. It's not what I would've chosen to return to, but I'm glad he died of natural causes."

He nodded solemnly. "Many in our line of work die long before then."

"Occupational hazard, I guess." I shrugged. He hummed in agreement and continued shuffling through the documents. Getting the distinct feeling I'd be instructed to travel when he finished, I excused myself to grab my things from my room and returned quickly. They'd already been prepared for a swift departure, just as I'd been taught by practically any Templar I'd spent more than an hour around. Haytham straightened the small pile of papers he'd made when he finished going through everything.

"I'd prefer to accompany you on this occasion." He stood as he spoke, heading downstairs.

"Why's that?" I hurried to follow after him.

Haytham called a goodbye to Thomas for the both of us before answering me. "The other candidates I would trust to handle the matter smoothly are not available." I opened my mouth to say something, but he cut me off as we walked outside. "And Thomas is not someone I trust to handle the matter smoothly."

"Why not, say, Connor?" I asked.

"Connor would have to be taught as much as you would. It's better to have someone a bit more versed in the intricacies of high colonial society with you, just in case you happen to 'forget' anything you learn." He gave me a pointed look when he said "forget," as though he was well aware I'd use it as an excuse should I choose to do or say something rude.

"I'll try my absolute best to not 'forget' anything. Promise!" I said with a smile. He rose an eyebrow and a nervous chuckle left me. Despite being his apprentice, the two of us had only really ever worked together a couple times. Most of my work was independent due largely to how busy he was; being a Grandmaster during an emerging war and working out an alliance with age-old enemies entailed quite a bit of micromanagement, as it turns out. This would be the first _real_ mission we'd been on together since I was inducted. I was a bit nervous at the prospect.

Haytham led us to where the horses were tied, mounting his own and giving me a moment to saddle Antony. As soon as I was seated atop Antony and my saddle bag was secure, he started off. We were off to the Kenway estate.


	4. Chapter 4: Dancing Lessons

It was on a rainy night that we finally reached the manor. During the months I'd spent here, the lavish style and the truly ridiculous amount of space that the building had had grown no more comfortable for me. Funny, that I was more at home in a run-down inn or cramped ship quarters than the lovely room Haytham had given me. As we approached the stables, the stable boy hurried to take our horses and assure us he'd bring our things in as soon as he could. He was murmuring to the animals quietly as we walked towards the large house.

Haytham removed his hat nearly as soon as we'd walked in, shaking it out the door while muttering curses at the rain. He sighed when it came back just about as soaked as it had been before we'd walked in. The poor thing was abandoned on a hat rack alongside our coats before he led me to the study.

Etienne jumped in his chair when the doors opened, staring at us in bewilderment before scrambling to his feet.

"Master Kenway! I wasn't aware you'd be back by now! I hope you're here on pleasant terms- My sincerest apologies for the mess I've made of the place," He gestured to the books strewn throughout the room, face red with unneeded embarrassment. "If I'd known you would be arriving tonight I would have tidied up -again, I'm so sorry."

Haytham brushed his words off, heading to his desk and rummaging through the drawers.

I gave Etienne a little wave. "Hi."

"Hello, Miss Courtney." Etienne forced out, trying to regain his composure.

"Courtney will be attending a ball in December." Haytham spoke from behind the desk. He was still searching for something, and didn't seem to be any closer to finding it.

Etienne's face lit up immediately. "Oh! We have to prepare immediately!" Etienne started gesturing and pacing, his voice gradually growing louder and louder. "We have to find you a tailor -a French tailor, one who can make a proper dress for the occasion-, a cobbler -nothing worse than dancing in ill-fitting shoes, I promise you-, and- oh, heavens, your hair! It's far too short, we'll need to find a wig…"

He rambled on and on, and I threw a glare in Haytham's direction. It was just my luck that he caught my eye as I did so - and smirked at me. Damn him.

* * *

My lessons in etiquette and dancing began the next day, and I struggled throughout the entirety of the first week.

"One, two- no, no, no- to the left!" Etienne corrected for what I was certain was the fiftieth time in the past two hours. Ecstatic though he was to teach me, Etienne's teaching just wasn't sticking. It felt too rigid. He wasn't a bad dancer per se, he was just not really any good at teaching the techniques - to me, anyway. It was something I discovered as he moved us around the drawing room, sticking to the rhythm of music that wasn't playing and trying to lead me through a dance that felt more complicated than it looked.

I'd been partial to dancing in my time, but the styles between then and now were completely different. The dancing I was used to was a lot more accommodating to improvisation and individuality, it offered more freedom. Granted, it wasn't "formal" dancing that I was into, but it was fun and looked nice, nonetheless. The style Etienne was trying to drill me in had specific moves and forms, all just a bit too different from what I was accustomed to for me to quite grasp it with his stiff way of teaching. It felt less like I was dancing and more like I was doing a stylized march.

The Frenchman sighed, releasing my waist and hand. "That's enough for today. We'll have our hands full tomorrow." He gave me a little bow. "Good night, Miss Courtney, I do hope tomorrow goes more smoothly than today."

I let out a great sigh of my own as soon as he'd left the drawing room. My hands pushed back my hair, the faint spark of annoyance at its length only exacerbating the frustration I already felt. From somewhere to my right came a chuckle. When I looked, Haytham was leaning against the doorway with the smallest grin on his face.

"As good as you are with a blade, I expected you to be at least decent with dancing." Haytham said with amusement.

My arms rose in exasperation. "Swordplay's more fluid. This? This feels like I'm being jerked around on a set of strings like some sort of oversized puppet."

Haytham shook his head and stepped towards me. "Then try a familiar approach." He offered his hand, and I took it with a little roll of my eyes.

"'Try a familiar approach.'" I mocked quietly. One of his eyebrows arched as his hand settled on my waist.

"If you'd like, I could always allow you to suffer through looking like a one-legged duck for the remainder of your lessons." He said.

"I prefer looking like a human as opposed to a bird, thanks." I placed my free hand -my scarred hand- on his shoulder.

Haytham started moving abruptly, and I did my best to stumble after him.

"Don't handle it like Etienne - that's his way of doing it. It suits him, not you." He instructed, pulling me along as I struggled to gain my footing. "Move the same way you do when you have a sword in hand."

I nodded. After several minutes of relaxing into that familiar mindset as we continued to move, I managed to keep up with the quick steps he was taking, even if I was off-beat and sloppy. Quick glances at my feet kept me from stepping on his own, but slowed me down.

Haytham decided to comment on that. "You're doing well, but don't look at your feet. Keep your eyes on me and what I'm doing. You wouldn't look away from an enemy, and you won't look away from your dancing partner."

My gaze followed his movements, doing my best to keep in time with the graceful actions. We stayed at it for a solid half hour, Haytham offering advice on what I was doing every couple of minutes. Muttered apologies would come from me each time I felt my feet step on his. He danced us around the otherwise silent room, finally coming to a stop near the doorway he'd entered from. Our hands dropped to our sides.

Haytham examined me for a moment before nodding. "Better. You'll need to take the-" A pause. "The aggression out of it, though. It won't be appreciated at the ball."

I nodded, happy to have made some progress. It was always nice to feel like you were getting somewhere. "Thanks, I appreciate the help."

He gave me a small, brief smile. "Of course." The expression fell to form his usual one. "Now, you should consider getting some sleep."

A soft groan left me. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," I gave him an over-exaggerated bow. "Master Kenway."

He rolled his eyes. "Just go to bed, for God's sake."


	5. Chapter 5: Preparations

In the next month, Etienne had managed to teach me the wonderful knowledge of acceptable ball behavior. Lessons included the proper ways to decline an offer to dance, what a "dance card" was, how many times I could dance with one person, how to introduce myself, how to flirt - it was embarrassingly formal, in my opinion -, and a great many more things that seemed entirely ridiculous for what was supposed to be fun. Then again, it was fun to act, and it looked like I'd be doing an awful lot of it.

Dancing was easier, now that I wasn't floundering around like a fish out of water. Etienne had managed to teach me basic techniques -minuet, cotillion, jig, reel, longway, a half a dozen others- and had expounded on them, turning the simple steps into actual dances. While I still needed to -as he put it- "refine" them, I would likely not have been kicked out of the manor the moment I walked in.

Etienne had dragged me to a vanity one day, trying to smother white powder on my face. I struggled the moment he said something about it having lead in it. We stayed there, fighting over whether or not I'd allow the toxic substance to be applied to my skin, until I proposed making my own cosmetics out of less dangerous ingredients. He'd sourly agreed. Frankly, I only said it to get him off my back; I'd enjoyed make-up in my time, but make-up then hadn't been made of _lead_.

We spent several days after that in nearby Richmond, visiting a wig-maker and a tailor. Wig after wig was tried on -brown, blonde, black, red, powdered, plain, braided, done-up. Wigs made of horse-hair, yak-hair, human-hair. By the time we settled on one, the color of my own hair and done up in braids, I never wanted to see another wig again.

I spent _hours_ standing still with my arms held up for the tailor -a _French_ tailor, just as Etienne had wanted. My arms would ache while Etienne and the tailor would converse, arguing about which color and what style. After days of standing like a flimsy statue, the tailor was fixing minute details on the dress. The two men had settled on a navy gown, opened in the middle to show off the crimson petticoat in the front. The dress was surprisingly easy to move in -fitting the occasion, Etienne said- despite the gold trimming around the hems and the frills on the elbow-length sleeves. A white stomacher covered the stay I wore, kept in place with pins and the laces of the gown over it.

As lovely as it was, I was more than happy to get it off so I could move a little easier -the gown was flexible enough, but it was hard to bend with the stay on. A glance at the gown, when it was off of me, made me snort at the colors; it seemed Haytham and I would be matching for the event.

Less than two weeks before the ball, Haytham had received the invitation and sent a reply. A couple days later, a dance card was sent for my use. It was simple, and I'd have it tied around my wrist by the string it hung from throughout the night.

Six days later, after throwing our things into a carriage drawn by our own horses early in the morning, we'd jumped in and began the 10 and half hour journey to Williamsburg.

Haytham sat across from me, reading some novel he'd grabbed off the shelf before he departed. I occupied myself with watching the scenery and scribbling in the simple sketchbook I'd acquired while in-town with Etienne. At this point, I was glancing between Haytham and the paper, working on a sketch of him. My hands worked far more carefully than they had in my time; erasers had only been invented in the past decade, and they were _expensive_ to import from England. The other option was moist, wadded up bread, and I wasn't fond of having it mold and rot in my pocket.

Haytham caught my eye at one point and raised his eyebrow. "What, pray tell, are you drawing?"

"You." I replied, trying to fix the minor error I'd made; his ear was definitely not _that_ big.

He hummed in interest. "Show me when you're done." He went back to reading his book, returning to the pose I was trying to get down on the paper.

After deciding the work wouldn't get any better -in part due to the fact that his hands were frustrating me-, I waved the sketchbook close to his face. His nose scrunched up in annoyance before swiping the object from my hand. He spent a moment looking it over before handing it back.

"That's quite a talent you've got." He said.

"Thanks. You have no idea how many papers have gotten thrown in a trash bin for me to get this good." I flipped the page and started on a new bunch of scribbles. What I would have given to have my graphics tablet in this time.

Hours of passing by forests, fields, and buildings later, we arrived at an inn in Williamsburg. The driver assisted us in bringing our things to our rooms, and bid us a good afternoon.

After settling in, Haytham and I met at a table in the corner of the lobby for supper. As we ate, a question nagged at me.

"So, we've got… five days until the ball. What do we do in the meantime?" I asked, stabbing at the salted fish in front of me. It reminded me of the rations I'd eat on the _Morrigan_ , in how salty and dry it was. The ale I sipped on was the only thing keeping my mouth wet.

"We won't be sight-seeing, if that's what you mean. You had plenty of time to do that the last time you were here." He answered. "It would be wiser to keep an eye on any messages he's sending, try to make sure he doesn't catch wind of us and change his plans."

"Might be for the best, when you think about it. I'm not entirely sure how I'm supposed to get him alone to kill him if I'm only allowed four dances with him." I muttered.

Haytham scoffed. "You impress him, of course. Balls are more meet-and-greets than anything else. Make a good impression on him, you or I may be invited back." He took a draft of his ale before speaking again. "He's a bachelor, so it wouldn't be unfeasible that he might take an interest in you of a more marital type."

"So, you're saying I'm supposed to 'woo' him?" I snickered.

He sighed. "You just have to catch his eye. If you want to accomplish that by seducing him, then by all means, go for it."

"Too bad I can't go on a tangent about what I do for a living since this is a 'polite' affair. That'd really get his attention!" I said sarcastically. Haytham snorted and we went back to eating in silence.


	6. Chapter 6: Pre-Party

It seemed Delacroix had cut down on his mail. Maybe he'd caught wind of Connor's intermissions during our stay in July and August. Either way, the next five days were fairly uneventful, full mostly of me reacquainting myself with the area and some of the inhabitants. Pleasant work, if a bit boring.

When the evening of 17 December finally rolled around, I found myself busy fiddling with my outfit. Putting on the pants and petticoat was easy, but now I was trying and failing to fasten the back laces of my stay. With no mirror to show me what I was doing, each of my attempts was guesswork at best. I was prepared to give up when there was a knock at my door.

"Courtney?" Haytham's muffled voice called.

"You can come in." I answered. He opened the door and shut it behind him quickly. He shook his head at the sight of me struggling to fasten the laces of the stay.

"You've worn dresses around the manor regularly, you should be used to these things by now." He tutted, moving to bat my hands away and do it himself.

"Yeah, well, I don't usually wear the stays. But, this outfit kind of necessitates it." I grumbled.

He just sighed as he tightened the laces up and down, tying them off at the middle of the stay.

"Thanks, dad." I said, reaching for the gown I'd be wearing over what I already had on.

"You're-" He cut himself off, catching on to what I'd said the same moment I did. After a beat, he cleared his throat. "You're welcome, Courtney."

Best to not talk about it, I guessed. I nodded. "So, uh, when are we leaving?"

"Dancing won't start until 9 in the evening, though our carriage won't arrive until a couple hours prior. We have… roughly an hour until then. I suggest you prepare yourself." He stated. Afterwords, he excused himself and left the room.

I sighed deeply and ran my hands down my face. It hadn't been the first time something like that had happened. On more than one occasion, one of us would call the other "dad" or "daughter," and it inevitably led to a feeling of awkwardness. Neither of us were used to the idea of "family," not when I'd lived with an abusive mother and… well, he'd been through all he had. Part of me was thrilled at the idea of having some weird form of family, while another felt guilty; Haytham had enough on his plate with Connor, I couldn't imagine how my presence might complicate matters.

The next hour was spent forcing a wig on my head, gently prodding at it to try and visualize how it must have looked. Gods willing, it looked at least presentable. Once again, there was a knock at my door, though this time Haytham let himself in.

"The carriage is here. I hope you're prepared to leave." He informed me. I nodded, grabbed my dance card, and followed him, glancing nervously at where my bag was set on the bed on my way out. All I had on my person were daggers, tucked into sheaths underneath the chemise, petticoat, and gown, but just above the thin pants I wore. The dress left my forearms bare, and the navy gloves I had on were already odd enough; wearing the hidden blades would only draw unwanted attention. It put me in an uncomfortable situation. If I needed weapons, they were tricky to get to underneath layer after layer of cloth. The only reliable weapons I had were my fists, and even those were hampered by the dress, no matter how free it was compared to others.

As we left the inn and entered the carriage -the same one we'd traveled in a few days before-, Haytham kept glancing at me oddly. After the horses started moving, he leaned towards me and started fixing the wig.

"You pinned it the wrong way. How many times has Etienne drilled you on this?" He murmured, removing the pins one by one.

"Too many." I muttered as he began replacing them. The first twenty minutes of our ride passed slowly, with him carefully pinning the wig to my natural hair. Once that was finished, he started to try to fix the strands that had come loose. I waved him off. It'd get messy as the night went on anyway, if I was going to dance.

He leaned back and stared at me critically for a moment. Finally, he said, "I think short hair suits you more."

I snorted. "So do I. Shame it's not in fashion right now."

He nodded and we spent the remainder of the ride making small talk.


	7. Chapter 7: A Familiar Face

We arrived a few minutes early. The entire manor was lit up with torches and candles. Guards patrolled the road leading up to it, the garden, the building itself. Multiple carriages were already out front, drivers busying themselves with one thing or another as their masters and misses enjoyed the party. The guests were dressed simply enough to be practical for the night's events, but elegantly enough to catch an eye.

There was a quiet sort of energy about the place; party-goers talked politely to one another, bowing and joking and tittering. Women would get together in groups briefly, complimenting each other, showing off their dresses, or gasping at some scandalous secret another had uttered. Men would do much the same, though they let loose barks of laughter at a joke they'd heard and complained about the quality of ale Delacroix had offered in the past years.

The carriage we were in jolted to a stop in front of the doors. The driver hopped down from his seat and opened the door, bowing and wishing us a good evening. As soon as we were both out, I took Haytham's arm and let him lead us inside.

The dancing hadn't started quite yet, if the folks standing around and chatting were anything to go by. Servants weaved between groups and individuals, tending to any small mess or need or whim that popped up. Haytham tugged us toward a wall, flashing a charming smile at those who caught his eye. I did the same, right up to the moment we reached the sidelines.

"Delacroix is known for his informality and promiscuity at these events. Hopefully, you can use that to get him alone." He said quietly, keeping his eyes on the crowd.

"There are some balconies I might be able to use to my advantage. Maybe the garden, if something can be done about the guards. Aside from that, I'm not sure of many other options." I whispered back.

He pressed something into my left hand: a vial.

"If all else fails, slip the contents into one of his drinks. It's slow-acting, but it's a last resort." He murmured. The vial was small enough to be unnoticeable when I slipped it between the top of my stay and stomacher. He continued speaking. "If anything happens to prevent us from departing together, make your way to our inn."

"What will you be doing?" I asked lowly.

"Men can move more freely at events like this. Once the dancing is underway, I'll try to see what secrets our man has hidden in this house." He replied. He paused, then spoke again. "If anyone asks who you are, tell them you are my child. Otherwise, you may risk being… shown out."

"Courtney Lynn Kenway, here to drink, dance, and flirt." I joked. He had a little smirk on his face before he pulled us back into the crowd.

We mingled with people as a pair, introducing ourselves as parent and child. A handful who'd met Haytham before expressed surprise, having not known he'd had a child, much less one of my age. Several times I had to bite my tongue to keep from getting a bit too "involved" in conversations. Most of the time I just smiled and nodded politely. It got very old very quickly.

Luckily, the dancing started soon enough. Half a dozen couples did minuets to start things off, then the real fun began. A young man with black-hair and a stutter approached me and introduced himself. He nervously asked for my first dance, and I graciously accepted, parting with Haytham as he partnered off with a woman with graying hair and a light pink dress.

While I was still no master at dancing, it wasn't particularly difficult to keep up some light conversation. The next three dances were spent with different partners whose names I wrote on the dance card I'd been given. It was a lot more enjoyable than the rigid, forced conversations from before, and I found that I had to remind myself why I was here in the first place.

After those songs, a flash of bright blond hair caught my eye. Coming towards me was none other than Jules Delacroix, a grin on his face and arrogance in his footsteps.

He was a few feet away when I heard someone clear their throat to my right.

I turned to smile at the unknown man, and could have sworn my heart stopped beating when I saw his face - a _familiar_ face.

"May I ask, do you have a partner for this song, miss?" Came the voice of Charles Dorian, heavily accented and the slightest bit reserved.

I responded quickly, not wanting to seem as though I'd been caught off guard. It was possible he didn't know I was a Templar yet; I wasn't wearing my ring, so there were no clear indicators of my allegiance. "No, not yet."

"Would you mind humoring me for a few minutes, then?" He gave me a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

I swallowed the trickle of nervousness that I felt and nodded. "It'd be my pleasure."

In the corner of my vision, Delacroix was looking sourly at Charles as he resigned to dance with a woman in green.

"Would it be rude to ask your name?" Charles asked.

"Only if you didn't give me yours." My voice was steady, the result of months upon months of training in stealth and subtlety. I could be wrong, he could be someone else entirely.

"Charles Dorian. And you?" Damn. He took my hand and allowed his free hand to hover around my waist, not quite touching me, but close enough that it looked as though it was. My other hand, the one with the scars, rested on his shoulder.

"Courtney Lynn. It's nice to meet you." My lips stayed quirked in a polite smile.

"Courtney Lynn. A lovely name." He complimented, his eyes still as aloof as they had been.

"Thanks, my parents gave it to me." I joked, hoping to break the tension.

His response told me it hadn't worked. "Of course. Where are they tonight, by the way?"

I didn't miss a beat. "My mother isn't around anymore, my father's off handling some business."

"I'm sorry to hear she's not with us. What work does your father do?" He pressed on. Warning bells in my head had been going off ever since I'd first laid my eyes on him, and they were only ringing louder the longer we danced.

"Planting, boring as it may be. It seems like there's little else to do for a living in Virginia, at times." I answered.

"I can't say I'd know. I'm not from the area." He admitted.

"Your accent gave that much away." I commented.

"What about a husband? A woman your age is usually looking for one." He questioned.

"Uh, well, I mean, it's- it's not really something I'm worried about yet, but- I mean if I had to pick someone right now, I guess I have an idea." I stuttered out. Part of me wanted to kick myself for the break in my calm, cool persona.

"He must be a lucky man." Charles said.

I took the chance to stroke my own ego and shrug off some of the embarrassment I'd felt. "Well, yeah, of course, I'm quite the catch."

After that, we danced in silence for a short while, until the song came to a halt, and Charles gave me a small bow.

"Thank you for the dance." He said, offering that same small smile he had earlier.

"Likewise." I curtsied.

After he'd wandered off, I couldn't find Delacroix in the crowd. For three more dances, I simply accepted the requests of the first man to ask. I wasn't enjoying the bright lights and dancing, now. There was a foreign Assassin here for reasons I didn't know, and I still had a target to take care of. I decided I'd focus on Delacroix for the time being.

I finally got another chance at Delacroix, only to have Charles reach my side before Delacroix. Social convention dictated that I couldn't say no to his request, so we began to dance once more. I threw an apologetic glance Delacroix's way.

"I didn't expect to see you again tonight. What a coincidence, huh?" I said to Charles. If he intervened again, then I would know he wasn't just here and somehow running into me over and over.

"Yes, well, you were a nice partner. I figured one more dance couldn't hurt." He replied. Now I knew he had to be talking out of his ass. I wasn't bad at dancing, but I certainly wasn't an _ideal_ dance partner.

"I'm flattered." I lied. "You weren't so bad yourself."

"Thank you." He smiled again, the expression still not quite reaching his eyes.

Annoyance surged through me as we moved around the room, not being helped with the question he asked next.

"May I ask you who you came with tonight?" The song we danced to was quick, but somehow he managed to speak as easily as he had the last time.

"My father. His business happened to bring him here, and I with him." I told him. Technically, I wasn't lying, except maybe about the exact nature of Haytham and my's oddly familial relationship.

"Hm. You wouldn't mind introducing me to him, would you?" Whether his question was simply a cover or not was hard to tell.

I feigned a look around the room. "If you could find him, perhaps. I'm not sure where he is."

His eyes narrowed. "If you do see him before the night's end, try to keep me in mind."

"Of course, it's hard to forget someone you've had two lovely dances with." I hoped he'd take my comment as an indication that I wanted to mingle with more people, as opposed to my being uncomfortable with him. I doubted that would help quell any suspicions he had about me.

"No doubt." He said as the song ended. Again, I searched for Delacroix in the crowd, but was once more forced to spend the next dance with another partner.

Just one dance later, I had a chance again. This time, the man seemed determined to reach me before I was whisked away once more. Just as Delacroix reached me, Charles appeared in the corner of my vision. He seemed just as annoyed as I had been the couple times he'd gotten in the way, and I doubted it was a coincidence.

"How good it is to finally see you up close." Delacroix said. His accent was significantly less severe than Charles'. He'd clearly been in the colonies for quite a while.

I smiled, giving a dainty little shrug. "I didn't know you were so eager to meet me."

"Yes, well, you're a new face, and I've danced with most of the other women here already." He grinned. "A man can be curious, can't he?"

I giggled. "I suppose." And with that, we started to dance. We shared some small-talk, but he was more interested in dancing, it seemed.

I expected to be forced to find another opportunity to dance with him later, but when he caught my arm as I moved away, it seemed he had other plans. "Actually, I thought we might share this next dance, too. Surely, you wouldn't mind?"

I giggled, only letting a hint of nervousness creep into my voice. "That's a bit unorthodox, don't you think?"  
"It is my ball, I'll do as I please - if you'll have me, of course." He hurried to tack on the last part, as though he only just remembered that his already shady reputation might be at stake if he didn't keep up at least some decorum.

"If you insist." I said, and he took my hand once more.

This continued on for at five more dances - _how_ scandalous _a number_ , I mocked in my mind- , him urging me to stick around for "just one more dance" each time a song ended. After that, there were no more songs to be played, and it was time for dinner - _supper_ , I chastised myself.

"Would you be so kind as to accompany me for supper?" Delacroix may worded it like a question, but it sounded much more like a command. I nodded and allowed him to tug me away from the crowds.


	8. Chapter 8: Improvisation is an Art

Delacroix all but dragged me through the building -down hallways, through ornate doors, but never up any stairs. Finally we stopped in a lavish parlor, lit by candles and moonlight. The wood of the dark bookshelves complimented the dark red carpets nicely, and the matching table was surrounded by only a handful of chairs. A couch sat by a small fireplace, which I'd missed at first glance due to how dark that part of the room was.

After that first look-around, I began constructing some sort of plan. There was diningware and silverware on the table, and Delacroix was going on about how he'd have dinner - _supper_ \- sent to us soon. It would be ill-advised to strike right now, even if I could dig the daggers out from under the layers of clothing I wore.

It wouldn't be difficult to take out the poison still firmly held between my stomacher and stay, but I'd learned with study that poison wasn't always… _reliable_. You never knew when exactly it had finished the job unless you stayed around, and those moments could lead to you being caught. Not to mention I had no _idea_ what _kind_ of poison it was I'd been given. Before it finally killed him, it could leave him prone on the floor, unable to call for help - then again, it could allow him to catch up to one of the many guards on the premises.

I could always use one of the knives on the table. There was little chance of him seeing a butter knife as a threat, and it was much easier to get to than the blades beneath my skirt. The only "discreet" way to pull my daggers out would require I get rid of more clothes than would be acceptable.

It took seconds for all that to go through my head before I made a decision. I sat down at the table where one plate was set out, placed between forks and spoons and knives. The dull butter knife wasn't ideal for the for the job, but the steak knife would be a bit messier. All I needed was one good _stab_ , and the butter knife could accomplish that much.

He took a seat across from me, starting to brag about this and that. How successful he'd been in the colonies, how many women were fawning over him, how refined his palate was - anything he could think of, it seemed. I nodded, my eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Acting like I was enthralled by his arrogant ranting was testing my patience. When would that food get here?

My prayers were answered when the door creaked open.

I turned to look at whomever had entered, and felt a blade at my neck. This was becoming too regular an occurrence for my tastes.

"You're free to leave now, Master Delacroix." A heavy French accent said from behind me.

"Dorian." I sneered. Delacroix stood up, a grin on his face.

"When I found out someone was tampering with my mail a few months ago, Monsieur Dorian was... _recommended_ by a friend." He explained. "Shame, it would've been nice to talk some more - regardless of whether or not you listened." With the shutting of the door behind Delacroix, Charles and I were left alone.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"I saw you arrive in Williamsburg with the grandmaster of the colonial rite. That wasn't exactly the most subtle of moves." He answered, turning the chair with his free hand so I was facing him. The metal of his hidden blade stayed at my neck, slowly warming from my own body heat.

"The only other option was a drunkard, so you'll have to forgive me for choosing the one that had some dignity." I said.

The corners of his lips twitched, but he wasn't about to let me leave. "What was your business here?"

"That's rather obvious, don't you think?" My sarcastic response was met with steel being pushed against my throat harder. My heart thumped in my chest. No matter how many times I had death looking me in the eye, my pulse would still race each time I was in a situation like this.

"Answer me." He demanded lowly.

"Delacroix tried to cause trouble for us and our allies a few months ago. I was sent to remedy the issue." Was my deliberately vague answer. I couldn't give away too much, who was to say the French branches of the orders were aware of business in the colonies? Or if they would be as open to peace?

"Which allies?" He pressed, impatience lacing his tone.

"I'm surprised you and the other French Assassins aren't already aware." I dragged out, casting a glance at the door. Delacroix was still alive. Was there a chance of catching up if I hurried?

"I suggest you stop dancing around my questions and just _answer_." He growled.

"The colonial Assassins." I said simply. Every second seemed like an hour. It was just more time for that greedy bastard to get away.

He stared at me for a moment, eyes narrowed. "We would have heard of the revival of the colonial Brotherhood. _And_ of an alliance."

"Don't believe me? Ask Achilles Davenport. I've met him. I've worked with people he knows. And killing Delacroix? It's one way to ensure this little ceasefire between his and mine continues." I insisted. He glanced away, and the hidden blade eased back for the briefest of seconds.

I took the chance to catch one of his ankles with my foot and trip him. As he fell, I stood and fled out the door. I heard him cursing in French behind me, and did my best to sprint down the hallway in the direction I thought Delacroix had gone.

I didn't get far before I slowed to an odd, one-legged hopping to remove the high-heeled shoes from my feet, one at a time. I tossed them away as I ran, stocking-clad feet silent on the cold floor and skirt billowing behind me. I chanced a look behind me, and saw Charles rounding the corner. I took a right, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of my target.

In retrospect, it may have been better to wait for Charles to - _maybe_ \- release me, but I'd been impatient. For all I knew Delacroix wasn't even on the _property_ anymore.

At that thought, I took a moment to force a window open. Freezing air hit me in the face, and it took a heartbeat for me to determine that there were no guards in my sight (Some were probably off, trying to enjoy the party in some small way). I was halfway out when I heard heavy footfalls behind me. Empty hands grasped at the space I'd occupied as I fell onto the dirt. Thank the Gods I had just been on the first floor. I righted myself and took off again, towards where the dark garden loomed. The piney shrubs would provide cover, even if everything else had withered due to the cold.

I hid behind bushes, catching my breath. Charles wouldn't be far behind, and I doubted I'd be able to handle him in a fight; I had two daggers, constricting clothing, and no back-up weapons to speak of, whereas he'd had at least the hidden blades, more comfortable clothing, and likely a weapon or two hidden on his person.

Footsteps made my breathing go nearly silent. I waited for Charles to appear.

Instead, a guard slowly walked by, missing my figure shrinking down behind the bushes. He grumbled something about his work as I started moving again. My eyes kept glancing down at my feet as I carefully made my way back towards the front of the mansion. His gaze whipped in my direction and I ducked down below the finely-trimmed shrubs around me. As I lay on the ground, I barely dared to breathe. I kept my eyes on the man through the leaves, and he eventually continued on his way.

A sigh left me once he was out of earshot, and I stood up once more, only to be knocked down just a heartbeat later. The assailant and I rolled on the ground for several moment, during which I realized it was Charles. I managed to squirm out of his grasp enough to _try_ to stand once more, only to have him catch hold of my foot.

I glared back at him and kicked at him with my free leg, striking him in the chin. He let out a groan and his grip loosened, allowing me to finally stand. Just as my feet began to move away again, he grabbed the hem of my petticoat, causing me to stumble. I was just fast enough to prevent myself from falling once more.

I heard the sound of fabric ripping, and looked to see a sizable tear going up to my knee. A surge of annoyance went through me. He still had the material bunched up in his hand.

"I did not save your life for you to give me this much fucking trouble!" I growled out as I tore away from him, a large scrap of cloth all that was left in his grasp.

I surveyed the damage, and felt a twinge of sadness at the realization that the lovely dress was most likely ruined. Deciding that - at this point - modesty hardly mattered, I tore the petticoat off, which allowed my legs to move more easily, and made the daggers much easier to access. The gown felt a bit like a tighter coat without the petticoat, and I doubted I'd like the cold without it. My forearms and feet were already freezing in the winter air, and I was thanking the Gods I'd had the foresight to wear pants underneath the skirts.

I kept to the garden still, moving past the guards with practiced ease. I had no idea where Charles was now, but I _did_ know that I didn't want him to catch up. So, I kept moving. Eventually, I came to view the front of the building, where the carriages awaited their passengers. One waited just meters away, the driver waited for his master or miss to come back, chatting with a man who leaned on the carriage in the meantime.

My eyes were on the mansion for several minutes, right up until the two's conversation was just about finished.

"I should really get back to my own, Blanchett might be back any minute, you know." The second man said, pushing off the side of the carriage.

"Should consider yourself lucky. Blanchett isn't as stuck-up and spoiled as Delacroix. That man starts shouting any time you hit a pebble. Don't even know why the prissy bastard wanted me to work tonight - the party's in _his_ home!" The driver complained.

The other man laughed. "I'll believe it. Take care of yourself, yeah? Might be able to walk away from the wanker soon."

The driver snorted. "Yeah, if I want to be in debt for the rest of my life, sure."

The other man was chuckling as he walked away, just as oblivious to my presence as the driver was. My hands and feet moved quickly, unsheathing one of the daggers at my legs and stalking up to the vehicle. I knocked on the side of the carriage.

"Yeah?" The driver called. No response came. He glanced around the side, and I hid around the opposite side of the carriage. Mumbling and rustling came as he hopped down and walked over. He didn't see the hilt of my blade coming. I muttered a few apologies under my breath for stealing his coat, hat, and shoes, and quickly dressed in the items myself after I'd dragged his body towards the bushes. I left the wig with him, happy to be rid of the thing. The warmth was a relief, and I clambered up onto the driver's seat. I kept glancing towards the unconscious body, until I heard someone approaching from the other side.

"Finally. Thatch, take me to the city, I have some business there." Delacroix snapped, climbing into the carriage without a second thought.

I snapped the reins when I was sure he was seated, and we were off.

Now that I thought about it, this might be a good turn of events.


	9. Chapter 9: Interrogations

"Where are we? Why are we stopping? Thatch? Damn you, man, answer my-" The Frenchman stopped talking when I whipped open the door and tugged him out by the collar. He fell to the dead grass ungracefully.

I was on him in an instant, pinning him to the ground with my legs. My dagger was at his neck, and I smiled down at him. It always felt better to be on the right side of the blade.

"Evening, Jules. _So_ nice to see you again." I drawled.

He stared up at me, his face caught between emotions: indignation, surprise, anger, fear. "You! You're supposed to be back in- how did you get-" He shut up when the dagger pressed more firmly against his throat.

"I have some questions for you. You'll answer them, and maybe I'll let you go." I was lying through my teeth. I had no intentions of letting him live, not when he was clearly such a nuisance to not only the Templars, but everyone he seemed to come in contact with. He was greedy, a cheat, and someone would put a knife in his back if I didn't. Might as well get it over with before he stole from someone else.

Blue eyes narrowed in fury. He didn't answer, but I wasn't waiting for him. "You hired several mercenaries to interfere with a negotiation in July. Why?"

He snarled. "I see no reason to tell you-"

"Ah, yes, with a knife at your neck and no help in sight, you have absolutely _no reason_ to cooperate. If that's the case, I'll just slit your throat now." I started to dig in harder with the blade, and he was quick to react.

"Wait! No, no, it's fine! I'll answer!" He croaked out as a thin, fine laceration opened on his neck. I arched an eyebrow at him. He swallowed as I moved the dagger away by an inch. "Some friends of mine wanted to see the negotiation fail, and I wasn't fond of the idea of the colonists working with such… _savages_ myself." He spit out the word "savages" with barely concealed hatred.

I took a deep breath. As much as I wanted to end this now, I needed more information. "Who are these friends?"

He smiled at me crookedly, like he was trying to put on a brave face, but was still terrified. "Dorian - Charles Dorian, the man you met -, works for them. He was sent here as… an exchange - for my assistance. I didn't want someone coming after me." His tone turned bitter as he looked me over. "And yet, here you are."

I gave him a small smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Thank you for making this easy, Delacroix." His eyes grew wide, and his hands clawed at his neck after it'd been cut open. I stood, watched him flounder for a moment, and offered a quick prayer for him. He may have been a bastard, but I guessed some God or another would determine whether or not he led a peaceful afterlife.

I sighed and turned. I unhitched one of the horses from the carriage, cooing at it to calm it. Someone would find the carriage and body sooner or later. Right now, I needed to get back to the inn. I hopped up on the horse, taking hold of it's mane and shifting to get more comfortable on it's back. I didn't have _much_ experience riding without a saddle or reins, but this was better than walking.

By the time I'd arrived at the inn and changed into new clothes, it was midnight. I sat in the lobby and sipped at some coffee, dressed in shades of brown and yellow instead of the fancy clothes, wig, and shoes I'd lost throughout the night. It had become my normal attire, being worn far more than any other clothes I owned.

It was odd, really. I'd become _mostly_ content with wearing the same clothes for several days, or even _weeks_ , on end, yet I still scrubbed at my teeth with a spare cloth once a day, jumped in shallow water for a quick "bath" whenever I could, and did my best to get rid of the itchy, annoying hair on my legs, arms, and armpits. Haytham found my obsession with cleanliness needless, but I never expected him to understand. Hygiene standards were different in the 21st century, and I fully intended to live by them until the die I died. Colonial standards be damned.

At the moment, I was going over what Delacroix had told me. If the French Brotherhood was getting involved in Colonial affairs without contacting Achilles, it could cause some tension. Not just between the two branches, but between the Templars and Assassins in the colonies. It was the last thing we needed with the strained peace that was in the works.

The door opened, and Haytham waltzed in. A look of relief flashed across his face upon seeing me. He crossed the room in just a second, and took a seat next to me.

"Explain what happened." He demanded quietly, eyes looking wearily at the innkeeper.

"He's dead now, but he knew we were coming. He'd been helping the French Assassins, whether he realized who exactly they were or not, and one of them arranged for an agent to be sent." I paused. "It would be wise to make peace of some type with the Assassin, however."

Haytham rose an eyebrow at me. "Why is that?"

"His son becomes a prominent member in the timeline I remember. With any luck, we can prevent a lot of turmoil in France with both of their help." I explained.

He was quiet for a moment. "That would require a great amount of work. The different branches of the orders tend to operate mostly independently, only coming together if an issue arises that threatens them both."

I sighed. "You think I don't _know_ it'd be hard? What's the point of knowing what could happen if you don't _do_ something with it?"

Haytham stared at me for a moment. "Fair enough. But we'll have to wait until matters here have stabilized some more. A friendship between you and Connor can only keep our little truce afloat for so long."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Haytham snorted. "The relationship between Connor and I, though… better, is still not ideal. You seem to have garnered more trust with him, and the two of you are closer to the same age. It makes sense that we'd have two younger members of our orders solidify a long-term alliance."

"Because you'll break your hip falling down a flight of stairs sooner?" I joked.

He glared at me. "If that's your way of saying that I will, with any luck, die sooner than you, then yes. To direct so much time and energy towards building an alliance, only to have it fall apart with one person's untimely death…" He trailed off.

I hummed. "What would be the next step, then?"

Haytham sighed. "Building up the Assassins, though I hate to say it." He continued when I tilted my head. "As it is, they're hardly an organization at all. A handful of old men, a few younger folks, and scattered friends here and there doesn't make an order."

"Would you like me to head Con's way and offer my help?" I asked.

Haytham nodded. "That seems the most logical course of action. Having one of our own to get acquainted with new recruits from the start might help to combat any hostile notions the existing Assassins may put in their heads. If possible, I'd like regular reports on your progress."

"Of course." I paused. "What did you find in the mansion?"

"Little other than some correspondence. I'll look it over tonight, see if there's anything of real importance." He answered.

I gazed at him curiously for a moment. "What do you intend to do while I'm gone?"

He was quiet for a moment. "I need to look into the Assassin that was present at the party. Do you know anything about him?"

My eyes flitted over his . "Charles Dorian. He was sent here to protect Delacroix. You should be cautious, though. Like I said, I'd prefer we have his help in achieving our goals."

He reclined back in his chair. "We'll see what happens. Go get some rest, for now. I'd like for you to depart as soon as you can."

A twinge of annoyance at his response nagged at me, but I headed to my room nonetheless. If I left tomorrow, it'd be at least a week before I reached Boston.

Gods willing, Haytham wouldn't do anything reckless while I was away. In the game, he'd only gotten worse as time had gone on, and that wasn't an issue I wanted springing up. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that he was capable of leading the order - and doing a damn good job of it - but the possibility was there.

As I layed back on the cot for the night, I resolved to try to work more closely with him once the Brotherhood was built up a bit.


	10. Chapter 10: Homestead

It was two weeks later that I arrived at Davenport Homestead, thanks to heavy snowfall. It'd forced me to make detours and slow my pace, or risk running Antony to death in the cold. He managed to trudge the last mile to the manor, and I was quick to lead him to the stables.

I shushed and cooed at him as he panted, utterly exhausted. After I got his saddle off, he was happy to let me brush his coat and mane free of debris and snow.

The stallion wasn't the only one who was exhausted, and it showed in how I kept leaning heavily on him. Traveling in snow almost always meant going on foot to steer your steed clear of ice, shivering at night when no inn was quite close enough to reach before sunset, hunting and dragging back game when your fingers were half-frozen. It wasn't all fun.

Once I was satisfied with Antony's coat, my entire body leaned forward, my forehead resting on the shoulder of the steed. My eyes closed slowly, and I let myself stay like that for a few moments.

Here I was, eighteen years old, with two years of experience in this world, and I was running around fighting, stealing, spying, and killing. And I liked it more than the life I'd led before.

 _I suppose that having a family that doesn't treat you well does that to you_ , I thought bitterly.

"Courtney?" Came a voice from behind me. I jolted, and my head whipped around to look at my company.

"Hey, Con. How's it going?" I gave him a tired smile.

Connor stepped closer to gently pet Antony's long face. "Well enough. And you?"

"Worn out. Came here straight from Williamsburg, and it started snowing the first day I was on the road." I sighed.

"You are welcome to come inside the manor, if you wish." He set a hand on my shoulder, turning me towards him ever so slightly.

I waved him off. "I will, I just needed a second to catch up with myself. Or something."

He was silent for a moment. "Is something wrong?"

"Not really. Well, I mean, yeah, but like…" I made a vague motion with my hands. "It's complicated. Just shit from before I got sent back."

Connor was silent for a moment. "If you need to… talk, about something, I am always here to listen." He offered. The last - and first - time I'd discussed my dysfunctional life with Connor, he'd been understanding and comforted me. I valued the camaraderie we'd built in the time we'd known each other.

I smiled at him. "Thanks. You're a doll." I nudged him with my shoulder, and gave Antony a final pat. He whinnied after us as Connor and I walked to the house.

Inside was significantly warmer than outside, and a relieved sigh left me as Connor closed the door behind us. I made my way up to the room I'd stayed in the past couple times I'd been here, dropping my bag by the couch. I slumped down onto the cushions, relieved to be resting on something other than a horse's back.

Hours later, Connor was shaking me awake to announce that supper was ready. After I'd thanked him, we headed downstairs, where Achilles was waiting for us.

"Are you here for a quaint visit, or do you have a reason to be here?" He asked, his tone bordering on aggressive.

I sat down, making sure to leave a seat between Achilles and I. "I'm here by Haytham's order, though it's a rather relaxed one."

Achilles rose an eyebrow. "And what would this order be?"

"I'm meant to assist in recruiting new Assassins. As it is, you only have a handful of people even _involved_ with your activities. You're not going to get any stronger unless more people come in." I explained.

Achilles scoffed. "Of course, and where do you propose we find these people?"

I sighed, thinking of the recruits from in-game. "I have a few people in mind, some of whom we might wish to wait to seek out."

"Why would we postpone if we need more people now?" Connor questioned.

"They'd be easier to get on our side due to circumstance if we wait. As I said, that's only some, though." I looked between Connor and Achilles before continuing hurriedly. "Plus, there's bound to be more people who would be willing to join up, too. We just need to find them."

Achilles nodded. "We could use as many people as we can get. What would we do to find them?"

I looked away. Admittedly, I hadn't thought that far ahead. "I suppose we look around in the bigger cities?" Achilles rose an eyebrow at my uncertain tone. "I mean, we'd want revolutionaries on our side, right? Those kind of folk would have a reputation, and where better to find gossip than in a busy city market or a tavern?"

Achilles hummed. "Fair enough. Do what you will." After that, we dug into supper.

As soon as I was done, I excused myself to wash the silverware and plate I'd used. Washing was a simple, but tiring, affair. With no soap to use, it often consisted simply of scrubbing the object - with hot water, if you were lucky - until it was "clean enough" to be used again. For the millionth time, I found myself missing the 21st century's luxurious hygienic standards.

I passed them as they entered to wash their own dishes, and I bid them goodnight. As I was walking away, I heard my name mentioned. The only logical course of action, in my mind, was hiding around the corner and straining my ears to listen in. I blamed Haytham's training.

"...so trusting of her. Regardless of how friendly the Templars are willing to be right now, there's always the possibility that they may turn on us later. It _has_ happened before and it _can_ happen again!" Achilles. He'd been weary of Templar-Assassin involvement from the beginning, though I couldn't blame him. In the past - in his past, no less -, that'd typically ended in bloodshed.

"What has she done to deserve your distrust? She has done nothing other than help us so far." Connor argued.

"'So far.' _So far_ she hasn't dug a dagger into your back, so you trust her?" Achilles bickered back.

" _So far_ she has done more than you to help me protect my people." Came Connor's irritated voice.

"And look where you are now. William Johnson is dead, and it's up to your father to decide who will preside over the land - and it's unlikely to be someone you know." Achilles harshly reminded.

Connor was quiet for a moment. "Courtney will not allow him to leave it to someone she does not believe trustworthy."

Achilles snorted. "Will she? However good her intentions, whether or not Haytham listens to her is up to him. She might have knowledge he finds useful, but we can only do so many things differently before all that information becomes useless."

Connor continued to argue. "She is doing the best she can with what she has. I have confidence that she is a friend to us-

"-No. You may consider her a friend, but at the end of the day, she is still a Templar. It makes no difference what her end goals may be; if this alliance fails, you will be enemies." Achilles interrupted.

A sneer was evident in Connor's voice. "How can you be so sure it will fail when it has barely begun? Your cynicism does nothing but hinder our efforts."

"When this whole thing comes crashing down on the two of you, don't come running to me, expecting me to nurse your wounds and soothe your ego." Achilles said. "Now if you're done arguing, I'm going to sleep. Good night, Connor."

I slunk back towards the stairs, missing Connor's muffled response.

I barely made it to the room I was staying in before I heard Connor climbing the stairs.

Sleep didn't come easy that night; my eyes only closed around midnight, when my tiredness caught up with me.


	11. Chapter 11: Herbs and Arguments

Breakfast the next day was a casual affair, as though the argument between Achilles and Connor the night before had never happened. We all grabbed something simple before going our separate ways. Connor had briefly explained he wanted to run some errands around the area, and Achilles was working on the imports and exports of the small settlement. I was free to do as I pleased, so long as I didn't cause trouble.

I poked around the place in the morning, eager to see the area in person rather than through a screen. Certain areas I stayed further away from than others; I wasn't in a rush to get in a scuffle with wolves or a threatened elk if I made a mistake and fell from a branch.

I eventually came upon the area I remembered as Myriam's campsite. Animal skins were hanging up, scraped free of flesh and left to tan, and the woman herself was cutting up slabs of meat.

My drop from a nearby tree was about as quiet as it could be, given the snow. She glanced towards me as I got closer.

"Hey, there. Don't believe we've met." She said as she straightened up.

"No, we haven't. Myriam, right? Connor said something about you." I held out my hand to shake hers.

She took mine with a smile. "Yes, and you are?"

"Name's Courtney. I work with Connor." I looked around the camp. "Nice set up you've got here."

"Thanks, I've done my best to do what I can with the place." A hint of pride was in her voice.

"Connor mentioned you knew a thing or two about herbs. Do you think you could teach me a little something? I'd be happy to help with whatever you need in exchange." Back in my time, I'd had interest in botany - Paganism sometimes called for knowledge in the area. It'd been hard to find anything about medicinal uses, though; there wasn't much need for them when modern medicine had progressed to the extent it had.

She considered my request for a moment. "You know how to gut and skin an animal?"

I nodded. "Deer, rabbits, beavers. I've had a bit of practice."

"Well, I guess I can show you some of what I know, long as you help me in turn." She clapped a hand on my shoulder and led me towards where a small number of dead animals lied, and then I got to work.

I spent the better part of the day helping Myriam around her campsite, preparing the animals one by one, scraping meat off of hide, and cutting meat. A couple hours before dark, we sat around the fire, eating a small meal of fresh, hot meat while she taught me about the different herbs she used. The few that she could collect during winter she showed me, detailing different uses for each. I managed to remember _most_ of what she'd said, even with how much she'd managed to tell me in such little time.

When I noticed the orange of the sun was beginning to fade, I stood up. "Thanks for the meal, Myriam, but I'm afraid I need to be getting back now."

"Not a problem. You're welcome to drop by anytime, so long as you lend a hand." She said, nodding at me.

I waved before I left, taking the snow-covered road this time. I could have stuck with the trees, but I disliked the idea of slipping on an icy branch and breaking my limbs. Besides, it was easier to enjoy the way the fading sunlight glinted off the snow this way.

Slowly, the orange tinting melted into deep blue, and I reached the large building. I shook the snow off myself before I headed inside.

"Connor, I'm back." I called as I shut the door behind me. I walked into the dining room, only to be shoved back into the wall.

"What are you doing here?" It took me all of two seconds to realize it was Charles Dorian, the _fucking_ French Assassin, who was speaking.

"What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?" Bafflement washed over me. Dorian was supposed to be back in Virginia. Had he just come to investigate what I'd said about the Assassins and Templars?

"Dorian, she is not our enemy. Let her go." Came Connor's voice. I glared at Dorian as he looked at Connor in confusion.

"She's a-"

Connor cut him off. "Templar. Yes. I am aware."

With a final look of utter bamboozlement, Charles released me.

I straightened my clothes with a huff. "Can't even walk in a building without getting attacked these days." I grumbled.

"Would you care to explain why you are working with a Templar?" Dorian asked, frustration evident in his tone.

"We have been cooperating for some time, now. We both wish to see peace between the orders, and she was sent here to assist in rebuilding the colonial Brotherhood." Connor explained.

Dorian squinted at me, clearly still suspicious. "Then what were you doing at Delacroix's ball?"

"As I said before, I was sent there to kill him. He was-" _A problem that needed solving_ , I finished in my head. I paused at my phrasing. Delacroix had been a _person_ , an asshole, but still a person. "He'd caused issues for us both. It was in everyone's best interests to take him out."

Dorian looked like he wanted to ask something else, but was interrupted by Achilles.

"Yes, he attempted to get in the way of some colonial-native negotiations in July. They concluded peacefully, though we still have issues with who the land will go to."

Dorian's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"It was bought by William Johnson, a Templar. Unfortunately, he died in August from some health problems." I answered.

"Now we're forced to trust that her leader will choose someone decent to oversee the property." Achilles added.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "He might not always be the most pleasant person, but Haytham's not going to throw those people to the wolves."

Dorian butted in again, before Achilles and I got into an argument. "When did this alliance start? Why didn't you send word to other branches?"

"We've only just barely begun to rebuild here in the colonies. I didn't want to get my hopes up, should we we fail. The alliance started… roughly a year ago." Achilles said.

Dorian let out a ragged sigh. "You're aware that this is going to cause problems in other rites, correct?"

Achilles snorted. "It's what I tried to tell Connor, at one point. Take it up with the boy, if you think you can convince him."

Connor stepped closer to Dorian. "What happens in the colonies is the business of the colonial Brotherhood."

"Your actions have consequences in other branches." Dorian ground out. "If you start an alliance, that means that either the rest of us will have to deal with the obstacles that entails, or we'll have to follow suit, regardless of our current situations."

"What kind of obstacles would you face?" Connor asked.

"If a French Templar escapes to the colonies, will you hunt them down at our request, or leave them be to avoid jeopardizing the peace between your orders? If we need assistance from you, will you be able to help, or will your hands be tied by the rules you've set?" Dorian stared hard at Connor for a moment. "This 'peace' is going to complicate matters - it might even cause a rift from within."

"Is anything simple with us?" I argued. "We mess with highly unstable tools made thousands of years ago, murder each other in the name of our goals - without ever even _reaching_ them -, orchestrate entire wars just to gain the upper hand for, what, a decade or two?"

Achilles sent me a withering look. "Change this radical is difficult, and it could destroy the very foundations of our orders."

"Then maybe the foundations are _shit_." I hissed.

"Enough." Connor grabbed hold of my arm and led me out of the room. His voice was low when he spoke to me again, hands firmly set on my shoulders. "We will already have difficulty convincing Charles Dorian to accept the peace here in the colonies. We do not need the task to be even harder because of your words."

I felt my lip curl up in the slightest of sneers. "But I'm just telling the truth-"

"You are interrupting an important conversation between _Assassins_. We may be allies, but this is not something for you to sort out. Please. Let Achilles and me handle this." Connor said, his tone changing from commanding to pleading as he spoke.

I looked away from him and shrugged his hand off my arm. "Alright." I said. "I'll be upstairs."


	12. Chapter 12: A Small Predicament

The next five hours passed excruciatingly slowly. Voices from the floor below would rise in volume at different intervals, the wood preventing me from hearing anything coherent. Books held my attention the majority of that time. Mostly field guides on different subjects, all of which I aggressively dug into, trying to put the fire in my veins to some good use.

For those five, painfully long hours, I ignored every sound I could. My curiosity nagged at me the entire time. It begged me to go downstairs, to jump in again, to argue, to even simply eavesdrop. But none of those would help, and as frustrating as it may have been, I knew that. Worse, if I was caught eavesdropping, it would only give them more cause to distrust me.

Footsteps were the sound to break the focus I'd had on the book in my hand (an old thing, the cover tattered and the pages filled with detailed pictures of North American animals). I strained my ears just enough to hear Connor speaking to Dorian as he escorted him to the only empty room left in the house. He told the older man to wait, then walked to the room I was in.

He lingered in the doorway, seemingly cautious after having all but thrown me out of the conversation earlier. "Would you help me move one of the couches into the other room? Charles will be staying." His voice was just as careful and soft as it always was. It was hard to stay mad at him, especially when I knew he had been right to show me out.

"Yeah, no problem. Which one?" I stood. He pointed at one, and we moved to opposite ends of it. At the count of three, we lifted it off the floor, and made our way to the room Dorian stood in.

Once we'd dropped the couch, we both turned to Dorian. Connor spoke up. "I hope this is enough. If you intend to stay long term, we can arrange for a bed to be delivered." He glanced at me. "Or two."

Dorian nodded. "For now, it's fine. Thank you." Connor nodded, and I followed him as he walked out.

Dorian's hand on my upper arm stopped me just before I passed through the doorway. "If you have a moment, I would like for us to speak. Alone." Dorian pointedly looked at Connor, who nodded and retreated to his room just across the hall.

I backed up into the room again, eyeing Dorian cautiously."What is it?"

Dorian stepped closer to me, his stance fractionally less hostile than the previous two times we'd spoken. "Do you recall much of the night of Delacroix's ball?"

I arched an eyebrow. "I remember quite a few details about the moments leading up to a target's death. Hard not to."

"Isn't that true." He agreed, then paused. "You said something to me when you were running. Do you…?"

I crossed my arms. "Remember? Maybe. It depends on what you're asking."

He scoffed. "Does it now? Funny. I honestly can't recall ever having seen you before, much less being saved by you."

The expression that overtook my face was dangerously close to a sneer. "I wouldn't expect you to. We hadn't met before the ball."

"Then how did you recognize me? How could you have possibly saved me before that night?" He pressed.

My lips pressed together in a tight line. "It's complicated. I'm not sure if I should tell you."

"I'm not sure if I should trust you." He replied shortly.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm not sure _I_ should trust _you_."

He nodded. "I expected nothing else."

"Good to see we can agree on _something_ , then." I inhaled deeply. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to get some rest." I pushed past him, and made it halfway to the room I was staying in before his voice stopped me.

"I would still like to know."

I turned to flash him a toothy grin. "I bet. Good night, Dorian."

* * *

I avoided Dorian the next day, and the two days after. I didn't want to get into another argument with him, at least not before I could talk it over with someone, limited though my options were. Telling someone you were from the future wasn't always an easy task, strangely enough.

The first to come to my mind was Connor. He'd be the easiest one to talk to, even though it was difficult to find a free moment with him. When I caught up with him that day, he was assisting Prudence with some of the chickens, quietly working alongside her in a comfortable silence.

I stopped nearby them when Connor looked up. Prudence followed his lead after a second, having noticed he'd stopped working.

"Connor? Who is this?" She asked, before her face lit up. "Oh! You must be the girl Myriam spoke of! The one who travels with Connor, yes?"

I smiled. "We work together occasionally. My name is Courtney, it's very nice to meet you, miss…?" It was better to not let on that I'd known her from my time, I decided.

"Prudence. I and my husband, Warren, work the farm here." She responded warmly.

"It's a nice place, you must take good care of it." I said. She nodded with a proud grin on her face. I decided I rather liked the woman. "Is it alright if I steal him away? Something's come up - minor, but still."

She waved her hand. "Of course. I didn't need the help, he just offered so politely…"

Connor cleared his throat embarrassedly and turned to Prudence. "If this business does not take long, I will return."

"I have no doubts. Goodbye, you two." She called as we walked away.

"What is it you wish to discuss?" Connor asked.

I kicked at a bit of snow with my foot. "Dorian. I… may have let something slip while in Williamsburg."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"He was sent to protect Delacroix, and he was holding a blade to my throat at one point. We ended up getting into a bit of a chase, and I mentioned something about saving him when I got frustrated." I said sheepishly.

He gave me a blank look. "Why-?"

I cut him off, my tone more frantic than I'd intended. "I was frustrated! I said something along the lines of 'I didn't save you for this shit' because I kinda altered events enough to where he wasn't killed by Shay, and now he's suspicious of me for mentioning it."

"I believe he would have already been suspicious, considering you are a Templar." Connor said.

I sighed. "Yes, but now I'm stuck between telling him where I'm from and leaving him in the dark. Option one is… complicated, and option two means he'll be a lot less cooperative."

"The French Brotherhood's support could be important later on…" Connor murmured.

"Yes, and having someone to vouch for us would be better than just barging in and _demanding_ they work with us." I agreed.

He hesitated. "Are you comfortable with telling him this information?"

I shrugged. "I told Shay less than an hour after having properly met him for the first time."

He nodded. We were both quiet for a moment, standing in the middle of the snowy road. He spoke up again. "It is your decision. If you think it best to tell him, then I trust your judgement."

"Thanks, I- I appreciate you saying so." I smiled at him.

He returned the expression. It struck me - not for the first time - that he needed to smile more. He took a couple steps back towards the farm. "I should get back to Prudence, she may need help with the cows."

I laughed a little. "Yeah, yeah, those wild cows." Before he got too far away, I stopped him. "Hey, Con?"

He looked back. "Yes?"

I looked down for a moment, shuffling my feet. I looked back up. "You're a good friend. I'm glad I got the chance to meet you."

He stared at me before he answered warmly. "The feeling is mutual."

Before I turned to go back to the mansion, I watched him walk back to help Prudence for a moment, feeling a little lighter than I had before speaking to him.


	13. Chapter 13: Special Delivery

When I walked back into the building, I was stopped by a short man. He struggled through the snow, all but frustratedly hopping towards me. I wasn't sure if I found it more funny or sad.

He huffed when he was within arm's reach of me, waving a thick envelope in front of me. "I have a delivery for a…" He glanced at the letter between heavy breaths. "Courtney Lynn?"

"That's me." I said, gently prying it from his fingers. With my free hand, I reached into my pocket and placed several coins in his hand as some _extra_ compensation. "Thank you. It must be hard work in this weather."

He waved me off as he pocketed the money. "It is what it is. Have a fine day, miss."

He proceeded to struggle back the way he'd come, towards a horse that seemed to eye him judgmentally.

I took a closer look at the envelope, my eyes being drawn to the cross imprinted in the red wax. An associate, then. I pocketed the letter and headed to the door.

I shook my boots free of snow before heading inside, shutting the door quietly so as to not interrupt the conversation Achilles and Dorian were having in the financial room. In seconds, I was up the stairs and in the room I'd been staying in, carefully opening the envelope without tearing the thick paper.

There were several sheets held within the envelope, and only one had familiar, sloppy handwriting on them. Others had maps, wanted posters, and varying sorts of records.

A smirk formed on my face as I read the letter.

 _A little birdie said the Prophet needed information for her Assassin buddies. Lucky you, I get around a lot. You've got yourself some people who might be willing to join that little party, with the right incentive. Here's some names, some letters, some immigration records, a handful of "portraits," and whatever else I managed to throw in._

 _You're buying two rounds whenever we get together again._

There was no mistaking it was Hickey, even without a signature. The demand for alcohol was what sealed it, if the laid-back tone hadn't given it away. Thanks to him, "Prophet" was a pseudonym of mine within the Order. It could've been worse, I supposed. It sounded better than "Boss Man," in any event.

I began to sift through the papers, careful not to tear anything. Tommy'd been extensive, and I found myself wondering just how he'd gotten hold of some of the things he'd sent. Some of these records were things you'd have only gotten if someone "misplaced" them. I supposed the colonial Templars were even stronger than I'd thought.

A good number of the people I read up on were Patriots, having either done time or having been present at protests that had torn through cities at night. A handful were politicians, but they were by far the minority. Quite a few were people with experience with weapons: mercenaries, defected soldiers, hunters, violent protestors doing time in jails. A couple of the lattermost group would have to be broken out, which could get messy. The others wouldn't be horribly difficult to recruit, assuming they might really be on-board with our plans.

* * *

Hours were spent poring over the documents I'd been sent, oblivious to the world around me. The sound of approaching footsteps went unnoticed by me, right up to the moment that a hand fell on my shoulder.

My immediate reaction was to twist and swing at the unknown person, my hidden blade only narrowly missing them.

Dorian stood a few feet away now, an aggravated expression on his face. "What was that for?"

I relaxed slightly, chuckling a little to ease my nerves. "You surprised me. I'd think you of all people would know that that's a bad idea."

He shook his head at me and crept close once more, peering over my shoulder at the papers scattered about the table. "What are you doing?"

"An associate sent some information that might be of use to us." I gestured to the documents. "People we might recruit for the Brotherhood."

He examined them for a moment. "I'm still not sure why a Templar would assist the Assassins."

I looked at him. "Is it really that hard for you to imagine that a Templar might want all this fighting to end?"

He scoffed. "No. Everyone wants it at some point." He continued to look over the papers, speaking as his eyes moved over the text. "What's hard to imagine is such a thing succeeding."

"Hasn't it been done short-term before?" I asked.

"Yes, but it always ended. A couple idealistic kids can only accomplish so much." He said, straightening up.

I fought down a sneer. I should at least try to be civil; he was just stating his own _cynical_ opinion. "You mean Connor and me?"

"Yes. The two of you have big dreams, but I fear you don't understand quite how many obstacles lie ahead of you." He replied.

I snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time my own actions threw me into a hell of a situation."

His eyebrow rose. "Somehow, that's not difficult to believe."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"You're sitting in a house owned by Assassins, fully trusting them not to stab you while you sleep. That tells me you're either extremely confident in whatever reasons they have to let you live, or you're as arrogant as most Templars." He said flatly.

I threw my hands up. "You caught me. My evil plan this entire time was to inflate my ego by befriending the enemy."

He cracked a small smile, then shifted uncomfortably. "I don't trust you."

I shrugged. "I never asked you to. As long as you don't, you know, stab me in my sleep or something _wild_ and _totally unprecedented_ like that, that's not a huge issue at the moment."

He gave me a hesitant, wry smile. "Of course. I merely ask the same sort of treatment from your end."

"I'll do my absolute _best_ to refrain from any vaguely or outright hostile actions directed towards you. Promise." I said.

He fell silent for a moment then cleared his throat. "Have you told Connor that you have these documents?"

"I haven't seen him since I got them. When we bump into each other next, I'll mention it." I said, turning back to the table. "I should get back to looking through these. This conversation was, uh, nice."

He nodded noncommittally. "Yes, of course. I'll leave, then." I heard him leave the room, and I soon became just as absorbed in work as I had been, happy that he hadn't brought up my little slip of the tongue from a while back.


	14. Chapter 14: The Search Begins

I jolted awake and sat up quickly. Something wet was on my cheek, and wiping it away with my fist revealed it was drool. A quick look around told me I'd fallen asleep while looking through the papers, and someone had evidently draped over me the blanket I'd been using while staying here. It was late, now, and the only light came from the moon outside.

I stood and folded the thin cover neatly, shivering at the loss of even a weak barrier between me and the cold. I made my way downstairs, hearing quiet chatter as I got closer to the dining room.

I was greeted by the three Assassins, who'd already made dinner and were now eating in between a casual conversation.

Achilles was the first to speak up. "It's about time you got down here. I had half a mind to go up there and get you myself."

"Sorry, I fell asleep in the middle of going through some things I was sent." I turned to Connor. "You should look through them with me tomorrow."

"What are they?" He questioned.

"Give me a second to get a plateful, then I'll fill you in." I hurried into the kitchen before he could reply, eager to soothe the rumbling in my stomach.

Once I'd sat down and taken a few bites, I started to explain. "A friend of mine sent me some information about potential recruits. Quite a few already have combat experience, and all have at least a chance of being sympathetic to your cause."

"That is good to hear. You have been going over them throughout the day?" Connor asked.

"Yes. A few individuals aren't… _too_ far off; a day or two worth of travel for some. It may be worth our time to pay them a visit in the near future." I replied.

He nodded, a contemplative look on his face. "Who sent them?"

"A friend, a fellow Templar. Maybe I'll introduce you two someday." I answered.

Dorian interjected, a curious tone in his voice. "When did you send for information?"

I paused for a moment. "I… didn't, actually." I considered for a moment. The only other Templar who'd known where I was and what I was doing was… "I suppose Hayth may have contacted him. I'll ask him when I can."

Connor rose an eyebrow at the nickname, but made no comment on it, instead choosing to focus on more important things. "Who would you propose we seek out first?

* * *

After spending two days going through all the papers together, Connor and I set out early three days later, before even the sun had rose. Our breath made little clouds in the freezing air, and I thanked my Gods that I was so accustomed to wearing gloves by now. A few birds tweeted in the bare trees as we passed underneath them, and snow crunched under hoof as our horses fought to carry us through the heavy snow.

The going got easier when we reached the more heavily used roads, the snow already partially cleared away by travelers that had passed before us. We were headed to Menotomy, searching for a man named Oliver Reeds. His past was a little foggy, but he wasn't an immigrant - we'd have had records of some kind. It seemed he was most often sighted around Menotomy, hunting down whatever game was present at the time. He was a bit of a local legend for his accuracy with both bows and rifles, and he had no known family in the area.

It'd been said he'd taken potshots at soldiers in the past few months, resulting in him being the slightest bit more scarce around the area due to the threat of imprisonment. He hadn't killed anyone - yet - but he certainly didn't seem to _fear_ the idea of doing so. His experience with hunting meant he was a better candidate than someone who'd never killed anything in their life, too. All in all, I felt he was a good starting point for expansion, assuming he would _want_ to join up with the Assassins.

When we reached Menotomy, it was quiet. A few farmers tended to their crops as Connor and I rode by. A careful look at Connor's face let me see the way his eyes had turned gold, scanning the area methodically. They returned to brown after a moment, and he gestured for me to follow him.

He led us towards a farmhouse, where an old man - weathered by what _had_ to be more than just age - sat on a rocking chair. A musket was propped up on the wall near him, and tired eyes watched us approach. We dismounted meters away from the building.

"Do you live here?" Connor asked, standing a respectful distance from the other man.

"Have for a few decades now. Who're you two?" He sized us up, looking like he could grab the musket at any second if we made a wrong move.

"My name is Connor. This is Courtney. We are seeking a man named Oliver Reeds." Connor answered. His hands were doing that thing, the thing where he clasped them loosely in front of him. I still hadn't figured out if that was just habit or a nervous tic.

"What do you want with him?" The old man asked.

"We're looking for recruits to aid in a- a special kind of group in the coming revolution. His skill with archery and firearms could prove useful." I told him.

He narrowed his eyes. "And just who're you planning to fight for?"

Connor and I glanced at each other. Connor was the one to answer. "The colonists."

The man relaxed at that, a grin coming over his features. "Then I'm happy to help. My name's Samuel Whittemore, good to meet you two." He pointed over towards a section of the woods due south from where we stood. "Oliver likes to hide over that way when the soldiers come looking for him. Might take you a while to find him, but he's there, somewhere."

I dipped my head in thanks to him. "Thank you, Master Whittemore. Your help's greatly appreciated." I paused, looking back at Antony and the grey mare Connor had ridden. "Would you mind if we tied our horses here?"

He nodded and waved over to the fence. "Long as you come to get them later."

Connor and I tied the steeds to the fence, and we headed into the woods in search of Reeds.

As soon as we reached the trees, we both clambered up into them, far happier to pick through the leafless branches than to hop awkwardly through the snow. Besides, we stood a far better chance of locating the man when we had a bird's eye view.

* * *

A couple hours had passed with us searching, doing our best to ignore the cold as we tried to locate Reeds.

I sighed and leaned against the trunk of the tree I stood in. "Hon, I think we should call it a day. We have… maybe an hour of light left, and it's fucking _freezing_."

He glanced at me from the branch he was crouched on. "I suppose we can continue tomorrow. Did you see an inn around the town?"

"Didn't really look. I'm sure there's one within a reasonable distance." I said.

He nodded. "Then let's get back."

We headed back, reaching Menotomy shortly before nightfall. We stopped to ask Samuel Whittemore if he knew of an inn nearby, and he was more than happy to point us to a little place just down the road.

After having unsaddled and tied up our horses, we went in and spoke with the innkeeper.

"We have one room with one bed, everything else's been taken for the night." He eyed us curiously, a knowing gleam - or, in this case, an ignorant gleam - in his eyes and a cheeky grin on his face. He thought Connor and I were a couple, I realized with a roll of my eyes. Not to say that I'd _mind_ being anything more with Connor. Things just got complicated with me being a Templar and him being an Assassin.

"We'll manage, thanks." I said, ignoring the light blush on Connor's face.

The innkeeper nodded and within the hour we'd had supper and settled into the room. Changing out of our day-clothes in the cramped room wasn't nearly as awkward as it could have been when both of us refused to look at one another as we did so.

When we were dressed down, Connor cleared his throat. "I… If you would like, I can sleep on the floor."

I shook my head, doing my best not to stare at his bare chest. "Con, honey, I know you're not exactly a 'sound sleeper,' but no one's sleeping on the floor in the middle of winter."

His hands were clasped in front of him again in that way I'd come to associate with him. "So… we… share? The bed, I mean. Not- not anything else."

I stifled a laugh at how nervous he was. "Yes." I glanced at the bed sitting in the corner - clearly meant for one person. Connor _was_ rather big, though I was also tiny compared to him. Maybe it could work. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

He nodded, and I motioned for him to climb in first. He did so, trying to press up against the wall as well as he could. Once he looked about as settled as he was going to get, I clambered onto the mattress as well, quickly realizing Connor took up far more room than I'd expected.

I glanced at him awkwardly, trying not to fall off the edge. "So… um… How do you feel about cuddling?"


	15. Chapter 15: Another Day

I woke up before Connor did. We'd settled on holding each other, trying to ignore how intimate the position was. I'd still been lying precariously on the edge of the mattress before I'd fallen asleep because the bed was so small. Right now though, my back was against something flat and hard, and I was finding it a bit hard to breath with something heavy pressing down on me.

I tried to move my arms, only to find they were trapped underneath whatever was on top of me. I grunted as I tried to wriggle away. The damned covers were on my face, so I couldn't even find out what was going on.

Eventually, the weight on top of me rolled off with a groan, and I tore the covers from my face, relishing in the crisp, cold air. I was shaking a bit with the loss of the warmth of what had been on top of me, which turned out to be a very sleepy Connor. It looked like Connor'd rolled us off the bed and happily fallen asleep on me last night.

The man was lying there, an arm tossed over his eyes, his hair messy, and his body just barely shivering in the cold air even with the blankets and sheets around him. Maybe the room just had a bad draft.

I smirked at what a mess Connor was. "Morning." I said, reaching for the blankets that I'd fought off just minutes before.

He sighed, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. Sheets and blankets alike fell to reveal his torso, and he shivered as the cold hit his skin. "Morning." He mumbled out.

I looked up at the mattress. "I think we need a bigger bed."

He rose an eyebrow at me. "What was it you said about sleeping on the floor in winter?"

I rolled my eyes and nudged him. "You know, you make a great blanket. Very warm."

He yawned, running his hands through his hair. He proceeded to pointedly ignore my comment. "We should eat, then return to our search."

I nodded. "But first, we should _probably_ get dressed. I mean, not that I'm complaining about the view, it's just common decency, y'know?"

He snorted. "Of course."

After we'd put our clothes back on, we ran through our individual morning routines. I went through all my "unnecessary" hygiene tasks - rubbing a small cloth against my teeth, dabbing a tiny bit of diluted peppermint essential oil around my neck, and using an even smaller amount of the oil to run through my hair. After that, I combed my hair to the right with my fingers, trying to even out the part on the left as well as I could without getting a cowlick. I needed a haircut, even if it was only to shorten the back a bit.

I kept glancing over where my companion was, watching as he carefully braided and tied back his hair in the same fashion he always had. He finished long before me, and waited by the door until I was done fussing with my hair.

"Con, I don't suppose you're any good with cutting hair?" I asked as we sat down to wait for breakfast.

He gave me a small smile. "Unfortunately, it is not a skill I possess." He observed me as I toyed with some of the strands at my neck. "Besides, it suits you."

I looked at him blankly for a moment, causing him to clear his throat.

"Your hair. It looks- it looks- pretty." He stuttered. "It suits you."

I smiled a little, looking down at the table for just a second before meeting his eyes again. "Thanks, but I think the back needs a little trim, at least." I paused, chewing on the inner part of my lip. "But maybe I'll leave it for a while."

A light blush came over his features, and we were quiet for a moment. Was I blushing, too? Gods, I probably looked like a tomato.

He cleared his throat. "Do you remember the parts of the forest we've already searched?"

I hummed in confirmation. "Yes. Should we check them again, or try to find if he has a camp?"

He thought for a moment. "Look for a campsite. If he hunts to survive, he has to cook the meat somewhere. It is unlikely he would leave any game he hunted to rot."

I nodded. "True. Do you want to split up? We could cover more ground that way."

"Where do you propose we meet at the end of the day?" He asked.

"Why not here at the inn? We'll have to talk about how we'll handle the situation, one way or another." I suggested.

He nodded, looking up at the boy who was bringing us our food. He spoke once the boy was out of earshot. "By sundown, if one of us has not returned, we should assume they require help."

I rose an eyebrow. "Pessimistic, aren't we? But alright, fair enough."

We ate with minimal conversation - assuming a handful of flirty comments and banter counted as conversation. Together, we walked to the edge of the woods, then went our separate ways.

* * *

Normally, I wouldn't complain about the cold. But a night spent in a drafty inn room - possibly on the floor the majority of the night - had done little to refresh me from a long day of traveling and searching, so I was in the kind of mood that warranted a little complaining. My fingers and toes were going numb by the third hour I was out, even with the leather boots and gloves I'd always wore. It occurred to me that I could look into getting some rabbit fur mittens like Shay'd once worn. They'd looked so soft and so _warm_. Yes, I'd definitely have to look for a pair for myself.

My glove-filled fantasies were broken when I slipped on an icy branch. My arms managed to wrap themselves around the branch before I fell to the ground, and I pulled myself back up. Perhaps it was better for me to focus on the task at hand.

Hours later, as the sun was setting, I'd still found nothing. A quick break halfway through the day to bite into the jerky and bread I'd brought with me only did so much to sate my appetite, and the cold only nipped at my skin more the longer I was out. At least the snow that had started falling was light; the last thing we needed right now was a blizzard. I was hungry and freezing as I made my way back towards the town of Menotomy. As I approached the inn, I spotted Connor ahead of me, slipping into the building. I called out his name, just catching his attention before he closed the door. He pushed it open just enough for me to slip in next to him, sniffling.

"Thanks." I said, breathless. The warm room was an absolute _dream_ after the bitter cold, and my shaking calmed some. It didn't hurt that I was all but pressed up against Connor, who radiated heat like a furnace.

"I found a campsite while I was out," Connor said, walking over to a table, leaving me the slightest bit colder. "We could head out to investigate it tomorrow."

I followed after, still yearning for more warmth, and eyeing Connor. Why the hell was he so warm? It wasn't fair that tiny folk like me had to freeze while giant guys like him barely flinched at weather like this.

Connor looked me over with thinly veiled concern when I didn't respond. "Are you alright?"

"Cold. I'll be fine." I reassured him. "We can go check out the camp tomorrow. A night's sleep and I'll be back to normal."

He didn't look convinced, but as I stripped off my coat, he didn't press the issue.

* * *

Supper was simple, with roast pork, corn bread, and ale. The moment I felt myself getting tipsy, I politely turned down the serving boy's offer of even more alcohol. We didn't need me being hungover the next day. Convincing Reeds to join up would only be more difficult if I could barely think straight. I excused myself from dinner, tired and still a bit chilled from the hours I'd spent in the cold. Stripping off all but my pants and shirt, I dropped to the mattress, exhausted.

I curled into a ball and formed a cocoon around me with the covers on the bed, trying to stay as warm as I could This place _had_ to have a draft. Maybe I'd mention it to the innkeeper when Connor and I left.

When Connor walked into the room, I still hadn't fallen asleep. It was far too cold for me to get comfortable. A quiet, shaky hiss left him when he started to undress,only serving to solidify my belief on this room being draftier than any other I'd been in before.

A hand shook my shoulder. "Courtney, move."

I mumbled incoherently, tightening my hold on the covers. He sighed. "Courtney, let go of the covers and move over."

With a groan, I did as he asked, letting him get in the bed with me. By the time he was comfortable, I was squeezed between the wall and him. Like the night before, we wrapped our arms around each other, mumbling apologies for all the odd adjustments we'd make as we did so.

Finally, we were both situated under the covers, and I was reasonably warm. Warm enough to fall asleep to the sound of wind howling and the two of us breathing.


	16. Chapter 16: Oliver Reeds

When I woke up, Connor was on top of me - _again_. At least this time we were still on the bed. I pushed at him in vain, trying to get him off of me. I was nearly succeeding when, with a sleepy murmur from him, his arms tightened their grip around me. Wonderful. I wasn't moving any time soon.

Resigning myself to the situation, I lied there, Connor on top of me, his breath hitting my cheek. The smell of his breath made me make a mental note to ask Myriam for something for bad breath next time I was in the homestead, just to fling it at Connor for his morning breath. At least the rest of him smelled clean, though. It was a nice break from the sweaty, filthy smell of the vast majority of colonists I was often around - a sponge bath every week or so only did so much, and it was most certainly not nearly enough.

The man lying on me finally stirred, blinking awake and slowly processing that he was, for the second time in two days, lying atop me. He rolled off with a few slurred apologies, then fell to the floor with what I could only assume were some colorful words in Kanien'keháka.

I grinned down at him as he kicked the covers off. An irritated expression was on his face, and he was muttering angrily under his breath. I swung my legs off the bed and stood. When I offered my hand to help him up, he took it. I had to grab his arm with my other hand to keep from joining him on the floor.

The rest of our morning, thankfully, passed pleasantly.

* * *

Connor'd led me to the campsite he'd found, guiding me through the skeletal trees toward the location. The site was as simple as one would expect, with a fire, a makeshift tent, a small amount of chopped wood, and some basic supplies and tools, most shoved into a crate.

Footprints - _fresh_ footprints - trailed around and through the camp, but none strayed far at first glance. We both dropped to the ground to inspect them more closely.

While Connor poked around the camp, I followed the footprints. They led me around the camp several times, backtracking and crossing over with previous footprints. Once or twice I was forced to take a few steps back to make sure I wasn't getting one set mixed up with another. My feet avoided the tracks as well as they could; this would only get harder if I had to differentiate between my tracks and someone else's.

Finally, I reached the end of the most recent tracks; a tree. Peering up at the branches revealed little, the bottom obscuring from view any snow that'd been disturbed. After backing away, I ran towards the tree, quickly scaling several feet in seconds.

"Connor!" I called.

His head whipped toward me, and he abandoned his investigation of the supply crate to come closer to me. "Have you found something?"

I nodded, mostly to myself. "Yeah, think you can track someone who moves in the trees?"

I moved to another branch when Connor clambered up the tree, joining me in examining the branches.

We looked at the bare forest around us, and we slowly, _painfully_ slowly, began to follow the trail of recently agitated snow on the branches.

Numerous times we had to stop for several moments, casting our eyes around at the trees around us in the hopes that we'd see footprints on the ground. We weren't that lucky, of course, and we spent a good few hours just trying to keep on track.

Connor stopped and sighed. "We will not find him like this."

I rested a hand on the trunk of the tree I was in. "Should we head back to the camp? He has to return at some point."

He nodded. "It would be a waste to leave all those tools. He'll return for them, if nothing else."

I shifted closer to the trunk, allowing Connor to use the same branch I was standing on to start heading back to the site.

* * *

It took us considerably less time to reach the camp than it'd taken us to follow the unclear trail. My gaze traveled around the camp, resting on the burned wood that marked the campfire.

I turned to Connor. "Hey, you think our guy'd mind us starting a fire? It's too cold for us to just… sit here."

He looked to me, then to the little pile of firewood. "We may have to chop some more wood if we do."

I hurried towards the supply box, and dug around until I found a handaxe. There was a _woosh_ sound when I swung it at the open air. "That's acceptable." I said with a grin.

Connor cast a wary glance at me, but said nothing.

While he started up a fire, I went to work on what wood I could find in the immediate area. Soon enough, a small fire had been built up, and a suitable pile of freshly chopped firewood sat by.

I sat down next to Connor, and within moments I was shifting closer to him. He glanced at me curiously.

"Are you really still cold?" He asked.

"Con, I'm freezing, I'm tiny, and you _radiate_ heat. Please just let me leech body warmth off of you." I said as I scooted closer. He let out a tiny sigh and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"You should wear heavier clothing." He muttered.

I pouted at him. "But then I won't have an excuse to cuddle with you."

He shook his head as his cheeks turned a bit pinker. "As though you _need_ an excuse for the majority of things you do."

A cheeky grin came over my face. "Does that mean I can cuddle with you whenever I want?"  
His eyes rolled in exasperation, but he didn't answer me.

* * *

For a while we simply sat there, huddled up. We took turns getting firewood and throwing it into the flames, always returning right to the other's side once we'd poked at the fire with a stick to ensure it wouldn't die.

The crunch of snow from somewhere behind us snapped both of our attention away from the fire. We turned to see a large man dressed in several thick layers of clothing staring back at us. A dark, scruffy beard covered the lower half of his face, and his hair was tied back. Small, deep-set eyes flicked between the two of us, sizing us up from a distance.

Connor and I stood at the same time, cautiously approaching the man.

"Are you Oliver Reeds?" I asked.

Another moment passed where he eyed us, then he nodded. "That'd be me. Who're you two?" His voice was gruff and his accent heavily mixed - it was impossible to determine what kind it was exactly.

I glanced and nodded at Connor, stepping back. This was Assassin business, just like the discussion he'd had with Achilles and Dorian, and it was for the best that I let him lead us through this.

"My name is Connor, I work for a group that could use your skills." He said.

Reeds cast another glance at me. "And her? Who's she?"

"Courtney Lynn, she works for another group." Connor answered.

"And what do these groups do, exactly?" Reeds stepped closer to us.

"We currently seek to support the Patriots," Connor said. "Though we may pursue other things once that battle is won."

Reeds looked away from us, contemplating. "What would happen, should I join?"

"You would receive training, a network of allies, and information. We can offer little in the way of money right now, I am afraid." Connor paused. "There will be more, but first, we must build ourselves up."

Reeds took another couple steps towards us, looking between us once more. "Do your groups operate separately?

Connor answered hesitantly. "Our activities often involve each other, though we work independently most often."

"And I'd be joining your people?" Reeds motioned to Connor.

I smiled. "There aren't really any openings amongst mine, at the moment."

Connor spoke up again. "We would welcome you with open arms."

Reeds shifted uncomfortably. "I don't suppose you can tell me much more about these 'groups' of yours?"

"Many of the things we do require a degree of secrecy and discretion." Connor said. "It is unwise to give away too much information too soon."

Reeds nodded. "Fair enough." He still looked between us, an air of caution surrounding him. He'd be a valuable addition to the Brotherhood if he could survive alone in conditions as harsh as this winter was - assuming he joined. He moved towards his tent, making a point of not getting too close to either of us. "I'll have to think it over. Sorry I can't give you an answer right now."

"That is understandable." Connor said. "If you choose to join, we will be in Menotomy until tomorrow. Afterwords, you should head to Davenport homestead, and ask for Achilles or I."

Reeds dipped his head towards us. "I'll keep it in mind."

Connor lightly tugged at my arm, indicating that we should go. We took our leave, retreating to the inn we'd been staying in.


	17. Chapter 17: Arrangement

"What will we be doing after tonight?" I asked Connor on the way back to the inn.

"Our work here is done, for now." He said. "Who should we look for next?"

I hummed, thinking back to some of the people on our list. "We could head to New London. I remember there was someone there…"

Connor took a small map out of his coat, unfolding it and looking between Menotomy and New London. "If we depart for New London tomorrow morning, it should take us…" He paused. "Three days. Four, if the weather grows worse."

I sighed. "Gods I hope we make it to an inn each night."

Connor side-eyed me and tucked the map away once more. "Our current arrangement could solve the issue of cold, if that is what concerns you."

I sent a mild glare his way, doing my best to ignore the way my cheeks heated up at the sly comment. "It's _efficient_ , given our circumstances."

Though I wasn't dignified with a reply as we walked back to the inn, the small smirk on his lips said enough.

* * *

We did little else throughout the day, mostly concerned with keeping out of the cold. It made me uncomfortable to just sit around and not do anything, having gotten used to always having something to study, or someone to meet with, or some object to steal, or some form of training Haytham wanted me to focus on. I didn't even have a book with me to read. I kept shifting around in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs, chatting up the travelers that stopped in, bouncing my leg - _anything_ to give me something to do.

I was bouncing my leg for the seventh time that day when my knee struck the table sharply. Connor jumped in surprise at the _bang_ that resounded through the room. I cursed and scooted away from the table, rubbing the appendage gingerly.

"Are you alright?" He asked, relaxing again.

"Yeah, great, fine. Just peachy." I gritted out, uttering a few more choice words under my breath.

A few more hours passed, with us sitting about. There was an undeniable sense of amusement about Connor at my fidgeting, as though he found it immensely entertaining that I couldn't sit still for longer than ten seconds.

Finally, the sun set and we had supper. I was more than happy to preoccupy myself with the simple task of wolfing down the meal, and then made a beeline for our room. My coat, waistcoat, belt, holsters, boots, stockings, and gloves were off in what couldn't have been more than two minutes, thrown haphazardly into a pile at the foot of the bed. Connor walked in to find me already hogging all the sheets for myself. It was a wonder to me that an afternoon of doing _absolutely nothing_ could exhaust someone.

After taking off most of his clothes, climbing into bed with me, and wrestling me out of the cocoon of sheets I'd made to defend myself from the cold, he gave me a pointed look. "Is this going to become our regular arrangement?"

I shrugged, moving so he could lie down comfortably. "I'm certainly not going to argue against it in winter."

He snorted as I curled up, pressing into his side. "And when it becomes warmer?"

I made an odd sound, halfway between a whine and a groan. "We can talk about it then. For now, let's just sleep."

He grunted and let the subject drop for now. There were only the sounds of the muffled activity of the rest of the inn and our breathing as we fell asleep.

* * *

As usual, we set out early the next morning, eager to get a move on. The low noises Antony made told me he was happy to be moving after being idle for the past couple days. I could relate.

Fortune favored us, it seemed, as we reached inns the first two nights without issue. The second day, I took a tumble into a heap of snow when trying to tug Antony forward. When I'd emerged, spluttering, Connor'd had a smile on his face, shaking his head as I righted myself. Antony seemed perfectly content with the situation.

We'd reached the little inn late that night, and been set back the next day. It seemed we'd be reaching New London tomorrow.

We avoided talking about our "arrangement," as Connor had called it. We would simply settle down each night in the same bed, holding each other. The thought that this might be something both Haytham and Achilles alike might disapprove of had me second-guessing it all anyway, and I wasn't sure I wanted to verbalize my concerns just yet. Clearly, Haytham was supportive of a friendship between Connor and I (if only for the sake of the two orders), but would he really believe it to be _just_ that if he found us sharing a bed? And Achilles… I knew he wasn't fond of me. There was no way that'd turn out favorably for me, even if Connor could get off the hook.

We weren't doing anything _unsavory_ , just sleeping with each other (I kicked myself inwardly, reminding myself how that sounded in any context). That didn't mean the other Templars and future Assassins would think the same, unfortunately. And I knew for sure that if the relationship between Connor and I was severed, the road to Templar-Assassin unity would only be made more difficult than it was at present.

I did my best to ignore the anxiety that clawed at me when Connor and I went to bed the third night on the road. Connor and I were _friends_. We were traveling together in cold weather, and this way we stayed warm _and_ paid less for a place to sleep each night - regardless of how inappropriate the method may be deemed by most.


	18. Chapter 18: Nightmares and New Londond

It was far, far too early when I jolted awake and shot upright. Nightmares. During my time in this era, they'd slowly turned more and more to centering around the men I'd killed.

Though I'd only just woken, my eyes darted around the dark room quickly, trying to pick shapes out of shadows. The moment I realized I was touching someone, my first thought was to move away, no matter the chilly air nipping at me through my clothes, or the confused mumbling coming from the other person.

When Connor looked at me, his eyes were bleary and unfocused, his brow furrowed in confusion at how I was panicking. He reached out, but his hand jerked back towards him when I flinched away, and a look of understanding crossed his face.

Just two deep, shaky breaths later, I was moving out of the bed.

"Where are you going?" I heard him ask from behind me.

"Out. Walking." Was my clipped response. "I need some fresh air."

"It is-" He glanced outside, looking at the sliver of moon shining through the window. "It is easily midnight, maybe a bit after. It is not wise to wander around alone at this hour - especially in winter in an unfamiliar place."

"I'll take my weapons. I'll be fine." I argued as I pulled my waistcoat on.

His hand caught my arm when I reached for one of my boots. I hadn't realized he'd gotten up. "No. You are in no state to handle a weapon right now."

I pulled away from him sharply. "I can handle myself and my weapons, Gods damn it!" My reply was just barely within the bounds of an "inside voice."

"I do not doubt that." He assured me, strain evident in his voice. He wanted to argue at this hour about as much as I did, apparently. "But right now, you need to calm down."

"Then let me go outside." I hissed back.

He shook his head. "Take a moment to clear your head. You can talk to me."

I shook my head right back at him. "It's ridiculous. You don't need to worry about it. It's my problem, and just because I'm behaving like a child doesn't mean you have to take care of me."

"I do not need to. I _want_ to." His indignant answer left me staring at him for a moment, caught off guard. I was still unused to people actually helping me with my emotions.

I shook my head again. "It's _my_ problem. You should get some sleep. You already have plenty to worry about-"

"And you do not?" He interjected. "You are trying to bridge the gap between two sides in a war to prevent a great number of deaths. That, in addition to all that you even _being_ here entails." The backs of his fingers brushed against mine gently. "I cannot begin to imagine the kind of toll that must take on you."

I swallowed heavily. "I- I don't know. I just-" I sighed. "I shouldn't have nightmares anymore. I'm an adult, for fuck's sake. It's my job to kill people if Haytham says so, not to lose sleep because I hear their voices when I sleep." I stared at the ground, trying to hide from him in some small way. I was upset; the nightmares, being asked to open up about something so personal to someone, not having quite enough sleep. I sighed, rubbing my face with one hand. "Gods, I'm such a fucking child."

Connor opened his mouth, then closed it, trying to decide whether or not he should say what he wanted. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke quietly. "At times, I have nightmares of my mother's death."

I looked up at him at that. "I'm sorry. I know you must miss her."

He nodded. "More than anything." He looked at where his hand had taken hold of mine, rubbing his thumb against my palm. "Waking up with her voice in my ear, the smoke in my lungs, and the same feeling of dread from that day is… It compares to nothing else." He was quiet for a short moment. "To this day, fire makes me uneasy."

My hand squeezed his when words failed me.

He looked back up to me. "What I am trying to say is that I understand. It is not easy to live with these dreams, and you do not have to be a child to have them."

My mouth felt dry and there was a rasp to my voice when I spoke. "But… you have an actual… _reason_. There's- Ziio was your mother. Of course you have nightmares about losing her. This is just- this is just my job.."

He gently tugged me back towards the bed. "And?"

I reluctantly followed, sitting on the edge beside him. "Well, it's just- I shouldn't have them..." I trailed off.

He looked at me, waiting for me to go on when I was ready. I inhaled deeply and started again. "I hate having to kill people. I'm scared that this war is just going to have me killing more and more."

"Why do you think that?" He asked softly.

"Because it's a _war_. Because both our sides are obviously going to be involved. Because it's… it's what we do." My hand clenched around Connor's as I continued, a bitter note on my tongue. "I just want people to get along."

Connor nodded, draping his free arm around my shoulders to pull me closer. "I know."

I rested my head on his shoulder. "Do you think it's impossible? Peace?"

Connor's head leaned lightly on my own. "No. No, I do not."

It got quiet, and after a few minutes of sitting like that, Connor convinced me to take off my waistcoat and lie back down with him.

* * *

Aside from a couple concerned glances from Connor the next morning, it seemed last night wasn't going to be talked about. That suited me just fine. My nightmares were the last thing I wanted to talk about on a day I had work to attend to - which was most days, in all honesty.

We briefly discussed the man we were looking for: Ayouba Moussa, a privateer who dabbled in whaling and aggravating the British navy. Due to drought and locusts causing a widespread famine a couple decades ago, a young Ayouba, his sisters, and his parents had snuck away on a ship on it's way to America. There hadn't been much information on his family these days aside from a brief mention of a wife and two sons, but he'd garnered quite the reputation; he was a stern captain, capable navigator, and outspoken revolutionary. Just the kind of man the Brotherhood could use.

Connor and I spent our first day in New London hopping from tavern to tavern, eavesdropping in on whatever conversations we could, especially those centered around the city's whaling industry. Moussa wasn't mentioned terribly often, but when someone claimed to know him, there was an undeniable undertone of pride. He was a person of some note, especially with his occasional endeavors to steadily piss off the British more and more each passing day.

His ship, a fifth-rate frigate that had been well-tested in battle, was named the _Gazelle_ , a subtle call-back to his early years in Mali. A tip-off from a drunken man told me she bore orange sails, and was heavily armed - even for frigates of the time. The way the drunk ranted on and on, she could easily give both the _Morrigan_ and the _Aquila_ runs for their money.

The second day in New London, Connor sought to track down Moussa, while I prowled around the docks, looking for the _Gazelle_. Might as well see her for myself, right?

It took a couple hours to move around the city and look around each dock, but I found her. It was the sails that tipped me off; just as the drunk had said, the furled canvas was all dark orange, the color of maple leaves in autumn. A moment passed where I simply admired her guns - 16 cannons on each side, carronades, puckle guns, and mortars visible from the pier I stood on.

If Moussa was as good a captain as his reputation suggested, the _Gazelle_ had to be a nightmare to face. With any luck, the Assassins would have her support in the future.

I retreated to the taverns again, busying myself with sipping on liquor and chatting up people who seemed to enjoy gossip. One thing I'd learned from my outings with Tommy and Shay was that many people were much more happy to loosen their lips if you bought them a drink first. It was unfortunate I couldn't use any of the information the men in there had to offer that day.

* * *

Connor greeted me with a nod when I returned to the inn. "How did your search for the _Gazelle_ go?"

After sitting, I scooted the chair closer to the table. "I found her."

"And?" He prompted.

"We definitely want Moussa on our side." I said. "The _Gazelle_ would be a incredible addition even if her captain didn't have a great reputation."

Connor nodded. "I managed to locate Moussa. He is spending the next couple weeks here, then setting off for somewhere in Canada." He looked away. "I was not able to learn his exact destination."

I nudged him. "It wouldn't exactly be practical for us to trudge all the way up to Canada by horse, anyway."

He nudged me back. "I have a ship."

I nudged him again and grinned goofily. "Okay, but consider: horses."

He raised an eyebrow, refusing to nudge me back. "We travel together by horse almost every time we meet."

I pouted. "Antony doesn't like not seeing me for a long time. And besides, you broke the chain!"

"The 'chain?'" A hint of incredulity had crept into his voice.

My grin only grew. "The nudge chain. The chain of nudges. Chain de nudge. Chain nudge."

The roll of his eyes told me he didn't find it quite as funny as I did.


	19. Chapter 19: Ayouba Moussa

It took us the rest of the day to find a good opportunity to approach Moussa. As with Reeds, Connor took the lead. He didn't want to talk with the man in public, given the secret nature of our work.

We got our chance when he was chatting with the harbormaster near the _Gazelle_. As soon as he'd turned away, Connor and I were walking towards him.

Ayouba Moussa was a short man, maybe as tall as _me_. His clothes told of an average build - not too stocky, not too lean. He wore his tightly coiled hair loose and just past his ears, the locks bouncing with every move of his head . His face was long, and bore a thick beard trimmed to roughly an inch.

He straightened up as we got closer, still dwarfed by Connor up close. "Can I help you?"

Connor cast a look around. "I would like to speak with you."

Moussa smirked at him, crossing his arms. "Seems we already are."

Connor frowned while I bit back a chuckle. "I have an offer for you, one that is best discussed behind closed doors." He pressed.

Moussa eyed Connor, then me. "I suppose I can arrange for that. But first, who are you, and where would you propose we talk?"

"I am Connor. We can speak…" He paused, trying to think of somewhere.

I nudged Connor and nodded toward a nearby tavern, one we'd already visited.

Connor nodded at me before turning back to Moussa. "Perhaps we could speak over a drink?"

Moussa grinned. "Only if you're paying, friend."

The three of us crossed the street quickly, finding our place in a quiet corner of the tavern.

Moussa reclined in his seat, sipping on a pint. He reminded me of a cat with his confident air and relaxed posture. "So what is it that's so important?"

"I work for a group that is interested in you." Connor stated.

"You wouldn't be the first one." Moussa mused.

"I have no doubt." Connor said. "However, our goals coincide with your own, I believe."

Moussa hummed. "And what would these goals of yours be?"

"To see the colonies liberated from the British monarchy." Connor replied.

At that, Moussa leaned forward with a grin. "Now, you've my interest."

"I understand you will be heading north on your next voyage." Connor said. Moussa nodded, and Connor continued. "It is likely you will pass by our headquarters on your way. We have a pier you may dock at if you wish to learn more. I can mark the location on a map, if you would like."

Moussa pursed his lips, considering the offer. "I suppose it would be convenient if we could stock up on supplies on the way..."

"I could arrange for any rations or repairs you may need." Connor said.

Moussa rose an eyebrow. "And you know what a ship would need?"

Connor nodded. "I captain my own vessel. I am familiar with the necessities."

Moussa relaxed back into his chair once more. "Then it's decided. We can talk more about it then." He looked at me. "And you? Will you be there as well?"

I shrugged. "If my boss doesn't decide to steal me away from my pal here." I nodded at Connor.

Moussa tilted his head. "You work for someone else?"

"A different group, yes. One that's currently working aside the one that's interested in you." I answered.

"Oh? Is your's too good for the likes of me?" He asked playfully.

I sighed dramatically. "Alas, I fear a man such as yourself would simply be too much for folk as simple as us." He chuckled, and I continued. "Truthfully, we're not looking for new members at the moment."

He sighed. "I see. I hope I'll see you there in any case, miss…?"

"Courtney Lynn. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Moussa." I reached across the table, shaking his hand. "Now, what do you say we take a few moments to appreciate the ale?"

A grin crossed Moussa's face. "I couldn't think of a better plan myself."


	20. Chapter 20: Back at Johnson Hall

A couple months passed, and I traveled around with Connor throughout that time, sending a letter to Haytham each month on our progress. We would stop by Davenport homestead when we could, visiting with those who came.

Reeds had arrived a couple days before our first return trip, just as wary as the first time we'd seen him. He was good at sneaking around, and preferred to stay out of sight. He apparently preferred the more isolated homestead to Menotomy, opting to stick around for much longer than just a day. He was hesitant to join the Brotherhood, dancing around the subject while Connor and Achilles explained more. He eventually agreed, despite his wary nature. I came to find he was a simple, sheepish sort, an introvert who only really wanted to do right by his neighbors and keep away from the big cities.

It was a bit amusing to me that he was as bashful as he was, considering how he towered over everyone - even Connor. It was odd for me to be around him, and I got the feeling that he was put off by how loud I could be. I limited our interactions to simple pleasantries, figuring I'd leave a better impression if I didn't make him uncomfortable.

Whether by coincidence or not, we managed to be there when Moussa was resupplying at the dock. The short man had greeted us warmly, insisting we all sit down for a drink while we discussed the business of the Assassins. He was eager to join, but informed us he would have to complete his current voyage before he could contribute fully. We spent the rest of the day drinking and swapping stories, even coaxing bits of laughter from the ever-stoic Connor a few times. He'd waved us goodbye the next morning and sailed away, the dark orange sails of the _Gazelle_ vibrant against the blue of the sea and the sky.

There were a handful of others who agreed to join as well. A couple stuck around the homestead as Reeds had, picking up small jobs for the few residents there and settling in the area. A couple others chose to stick to their own homes, stopping by every once in awhile to receive training. The majority of the people we'd spoken to weren't horribly interested in our vague offers, unfortunately. All considered, we had a start - however small it was.

Dorian was a different story. Things were still tense between the two of us. I was still tossing around the idea of telling him that I was from the future, but hadn't quite reached a decision. Connor's support was comforting, but it was no less difficult to decide. Dorian was polite towards me, but he remained markedly wary. He kept me at a distance - something I'd expected, given that I was a Templar; I honestly would have been far more concerned if he'd been any less suspicious of me, no matter how aggravating it could be to have him hovering over my shoulder at times.

Now, Connor and I were heading to Johnson Hall at Haytham's request - he'd been oddly specific that I should bring Connor, even though he likely would've come regardless -, both to find who was taking over as the landowner, and to decide what to do in the coming months.

Revolution had been brewing more and more, and battles were bound to start up - regardless of whether or not things were deviating drastically from the original timeline. Small firefights were already popping up across the colonies. Some colonist, fancying himself a vigilante, would take a few shots at a camp filled with British troops, flee to his buddies when the angry redcoats would start firing back, and then all hell would break loose for a short time. There was already a body count piling up.

We arrived at Johnson Hall late, having been side-tracked by my own insistence that stopping to visit with one of the Assassin recruits in a small town _surely_ wouldn't put us behind schedule. I was clearly mistaken. The sun had already set, forcing us to unsaddle our mounts in the dark.

Walking into the hall presented us both with a surprise; half a dozen people I hadn't met were present, staring at us. Haytham, Pitcairn, and Tommy stood to the side. I felt a pang of disappointment that Shay wasn't present, having not seen nor heard from him since last summer. At least Tommy was around.

I walked towards Haytham, dipping my head respectfully. It would be wise to be less casual, given the unfamiliar company. "I came as soon as I got your letter."

His eyebrow jumped up for a split second - an unspoken promise we'd be discussing my punctuality later, in private - before he cleared his throat. "Then we can begin." He turned to the six strangers, speaking in a more authoritative tone. "After putting considerable thought into the matter, I've decided that you are all more than capable candidates for taking responsibility of the land Johnson has left to me."

A modestly dressed woman, her skin and hair as dark as her eyes, spoke up. "Johnson's property is best left in our hands," She gestured to herself and to the skinny man sitting in the plush chair beside where she stood. "As we have the most experience with the native peoples of this continent."

An unimpressionable man, bald and plain scoffed. "You may have experience with them, but I have the military connections needed to protect them."

The young woman lounging on the only couch in the room, her body draped in beautiful teal fabric, tittered derisively. "And I suppose you, the man who was _drowning_ in debt when he was first inducted, would know how to manage your funds? You'd lose the property in weeks, at best."

A middle-aged pair - eerily alike in their appearance, even without how similar their tall, plump builds were - glanced at each other uncomfortably.

Haytham held up a hand, and the bickering between the three who'd spoken quieted. "I understand each of you are eager, however I have decided on a better way to choose who will be given the duty of caring for not just the land, but the people living upon it."

The woman on the couch crossed her legs with a pensive look on her face, the expensive-looking dress shifting with her movement. "And what is this method, Grandmaster?"

Haytham motioned at Connor. I and the latter shared a confused glance. What was Haytham _doing?_

"This is Connor, he is my son." Haytham's words were met with silence. "He is a member of the tribe living on this land, and as such, I trust his judgement in deciding between the lot of you."

The plain man was the first to speak up. "He's an Assassin! We might not be slitting each other's throats right now, but why should we trust him to decide something like this?"

Haytham shot a harsh glare at the man. "He _will_ be the one making this choice. There will be no discussion on this."

I caught Connor's eye, and he was looking at me, appearing just as lost as I was. Why hadn't Haytham told me? It would've been easier for us to prepare in some way or another if he'd said something, _anything_ , about this. I shuffled closer to Connor.

"Did you know of this?" He asked under his breath.

"No. I hadn't heard a word of it. Else, I would have told you." I whispered back. The people in the room were arguing again, Haytham's voice rising to hush them once more.

"Connor may take as much time as he needs to come to a decision. You are not to rush him, and if I hear of any of you do anything less than tasteful in some mad grab for power, I will personally see to the matter." Haytham said firmly. He turned, grabbing my arm and all but dragging me out of the room with him.

"What are you doing?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice low.

Haytham narrowed his eyes. "By giving Connor a choice in this, I am cementing the peace between our orders further, and ensuring Connor's people are given the best chance at having someone oversee their land whom they'll find agreeable."

I took a breath, trying to calm myself down. "Okay, that makes sense, I suppose. But why didn't you tell us?"

"He wasn't expecting it, therefore it's more likely to have a stronger effect." He answered, looking away from me.

I was quiet, processing what he'd just said, then I was whispering back angrily. "You're trying to manipulate him?"

His eyes snapped back to mine. "It is necessary in our work. So long as I don't harm him, this-"

" _This_ ," I hissed. "Is exactly the sort of reason why he didn't trust you in the timeline I recall."

"This is how we work, Courtney. _This_ is part of being a _Templar_." He ground out.

"Deception?" I asked sharply. "Towards our own allies? Haytham-"

He cut me off sharply, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Connor is an Assassin, and should this truce fail, we will be enemies. Discretion is absolutely needed, especially if Connor is capable of becoming as much of an issue as you've said."

I jerked away from him roughly, freeing myself. "How is this alliance even going to work if we keep secrets like this, huh? How long until innocent little things like this turn into something more?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You are a Templar, first and foremost. Don't you dare forget that."

I stared back at him, defiant. "And he's your son. I know you both want to be in each other's lives. This isn't the way to do it."

Haytham inhaled deeply, held the breath, then exhaled. "All I need you to do right now is make sure the people out there do not try to cause any problems for one another, and that they don't… _unfairly proposition_ Connor. I want this to be fair."

I gave him a curt nod. "Fine, but we're not done with this conversation."

"Agreed." He said shortly.

When we walked back in, Connor was mingling with the candidates. He gave me a concerned glance at the sour look on my face, but I merely shook my head at him, mouthing " _Later_." to him.

I went straight to Tommy. I needed a drink before I did anything else, and he'd be the one to have some alcohol, if anyone did.

"Aw, here I was, thinking we'd lost you to the Assassins." He drawled, giving me a lazy hug.

I patted him on the back until he let go of me. "Good to see you, too, Tommy. Thanks for the info, by the way."

He grinned. "Don't be forgetting what you owe me for it."

I held my hands up. "Of course, of course. But first, I _need_ a drink to handle tonight."

He guffawed, reaching into his coat and bringing out a flask. "If that's the case, you're gonna owe me three drinks, girlie."

I snatched the flask from his hand, quickly taking the cap off and taking a draft of whatever was in there. It certainly wasn't the best liquor I'd tasted, but it was better than nothing.

He took it out of my hands when I finished swallowing down the liquid. "Better?"

I shrugged. "Could be worse."

"You need another drink, all you need to do is promise me another round for later." He said with a wink.

"Fair's fair, I guess. Later, Tommy, thanks for the drink." I said, sauntering over towards Connor.


	21. Chapter 21: Meet and Greet

Connor looked up from the conversation he was having with the nearly identical pair, a subtly relieved look on his face as the man droned on and on. He stopped when he finally noticed me standing close to Connor.

"And who are you, young lady, if I may ask?" He questioned politely.

I gave him a small smile. "My name is Courtney Lynn. It's a pleasure to meet you…?"

"Ron, Ronald Earl. This is my twin sister, Patty Earl." He gestured to her, a proud gleam in his eye.

" _Patricia_ Earl." Patty - _Patricia_ corrected him. She smiled at me warmly. "The Grandmaster has spoken of you before. He seems to think highly of you."

The bitter-sweet feeling that rose in me at the mention of Haytham was stifled by my pride at being recognized. "I'm flattered to hear that. I like to think I'm good at what I do, but reassurance is always appreciated."

Ronald butted back in. "Of course, of course. What you're doing now must be much more interesting than simple courier-work."

"I do get to have a bit more fun." I admitted. "But please, I think our focus should be elsewhere right now." I said, trying to politely steer the conversation back to the problem at hand.

Patricia nodded. "Yes, we only have so much time before supper, after all. I'm sure this kind young man won't want to stay up talking to us for long after that."

At that, Ronald burst back into talking to Connor about why he'd be the best candidate for the job. I had to admit that they were kind people, if a bit boastful as they told their story. For years, they'd been inseparable, both of them widowed and childless but content to live supporting other Templars and pursuing a more financially lucrative pastime than parenthood or romance. They ran a tobacco plantation, a very _successful_ tobacco plantation, in fact. It worried me, of course, as it meant they already had a large amount of land to attend to, and didn't seem to even consider letting go of it.

After we'd said our goodbyes, insisting we had to speak to someone else before supper, we slowly made our way to the side of the room.

Connor leaned down slightly, talking lowly to me. "They seemed… kind."

I nodded. "Yes. Though they already have a plantation to attend to, so their attention would be divided."

He hummed. "True." His eyes scanned over the remaining four. "Who should we speak to next?"

I looked between them. It seemed the modestly dressed woman and the skinny man were together, so we could count them as one stop, much like the couple we'd just spoken to. The other two, the _painfully_ plain man and the rather bored woman on the couch, clearly were not.

"The woman, there. She doesn't seem the type you'd want, but we can at least cross her off the list faster, this way." I suggested.

He nodded. "A good point." We approached her and she perked up, all smiles.

"Hello! I am Ippolita Abel. It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Connor." She looked to me, a bit confused. "I don't believe I know you?" Her accent was… odd. It had to have been French or Italian, though - I was sure of it.

"My name is Courtney Lynn. I work alongside Connor, Miss Abel." I replied.

She let out a quiet, surprised "Oh!" at my name and leaned towards me. "You trained under the Grandmaster, correct? What an honor that must have been!"

I forced another smile on my face at the mention of Haytham. "He's a good teacher, to say the very least."

"I can only imagine." She said, then turned back to Connor. "Now, it would be wise of us to get on to business, no?"

Ippolita proved herself to be charismatic, and much more... _friendly_ than I would have given her credit for at first glance. Which is to say, she was a total flirt - with both of us, to my surprise. I was used to getting looks from men, not women. Not that _I_ was complaining about the attention, though poor Connor's cheeks were steadily growing redder by the moment.

Flirtiness aside, she boasted about being good at managing money and charming people. The latter I had enough proof for; she was easily the most _forward_ woman I'd met in a while.

On the other hand, she hadn't had much opportunity to practice managing money and land herself as she'd only had a few years to manage her father's property after he'd passed, before it'd been claimed by her older brother. She'd come over with them when she was little, the three of them immigrants from France. She said nothing of her mother.

I supposed she was a better candidate than the Earl twins, if only because she had no prior commitments. Plus, she seemed exceptionally nice - though that may have been the flirting. Her lack of experience was a concern, though.

Next, Connor and I meandered over to the lone man. He was still, in my opinion, horribly plain. I didn't like the derisive way he spoke about the other candidates, and more or less tuned him out. I paid him only the barest attention as he doubled back and corrected himself every five seconds; I'd forgotten his name by the time we'd finished speaking, even. He didn't seem to have left much of an impression on Connor, either.

The final people we were to speak to were waiting for us. They had remained where they were the entire time, patiently awaiting for when we would come around to them. When the man saw us heading towards them, he tugged on the woman's sleeve. When she turned, her eyes fell on his hands, and he made several movements with them. Some were obvious - pointing to us and him and her -, but others were a little more difficult to decipher, apparently conveying some meaning only the woman beside him understood.

The woman in question was ready for us - and for our questions - it seemed. "I am Jeanne. I work for Master Hans Anton," She nodded to the sitting man, who smiled at us. "He cannot speak, so I interpret for him."

That cleared some things up. I dipped my head to them both respectfully. "Of course. I'm Courtney Lynn. This is Connor, as you already know."

Jeanne nodded. "Yes, he was given a-" Her eyes flicked away briefly. "-A noteworthy introduction."

Hans tugged on her sleeve again, and made several gestures at her. She nodded and turned back. "We are ready to begin discussing the matter at hand if you are."

Connor nodded, and the conversation began in earnest.

Jeanne was exceptionally good at keeping the conversation flowing smoothly, making the pauses she'd take to "listen" to Hans seem as natural as taking a breath between words. Together, they pieced together an interesting story. Hans had been mute from birth, unable to make noises aside from screams or grunts or quiet sighs. Jeanne, being five years older, was selected by his parents to accompany him around their property. They'd grown to be close, and she'd served as his interpreter from the time he normally would've learned to talk. They'd devised a system, known only to them, that they'd refined over the years. When he was unable to get his point across with gestures, Hans would use the small notebook in his pocket to write sentences.

Together, they'd traveled throughout the colonies, and Jeanne had put her considerable linguistic skills to use in learning a variety of the native languages. Hans had proved himself in the financial and medical fields, treating patients of all backgrounds for decent prices and still managing to make a profit. Jeanne had picked up more than just a bit of medical knowledge as well, and served as his assistant. The two had spent the last few years handling a plot of land and making money from the crops grown there and treating the ailments of the people from a nearby town.

Someone interrupted what I sensed was likely the tail-end of the conversation to announce supper, and we all said our goodbyes.

Supper passed slower than usual, dragging on due to the more formal atmosphere. It didn't stop Tommy from behaving as he usually did, of course. Personally, I preferred the casual feeling of inns, too. Once we were finished, we were shown to our rooms.


	22. Chapter 22: Late Night Talks

After I'd thrown my things at the foot of the bed, I crossed the hall and knocked on the door Connor'd disappeared behind. He let me in without question, and I settled into a chair.

"I did not like Edgar Lawrence." He said.

I looked up, confused for a moment. "Oh. _Oh_ , that guy. Yeah." So that'd been the plain man's name. I guessed he was out of the way, at least. Now there were only three choices. "What about the Earls?"

He shook his head. "My people don't deserve divided attention. Miss Abel or Hans Anton and Jeanne would be better options."

"Abel has less experience with handling property." I stated.

Connor hummed. "Jeanne may be able to learn to speak our language."

"True, very true." I said. "But they may not be capable of defending your folks from the colonists as well without taking any drastic measures."

He hummed. "I am worried Miss Abel may not get along with them as easily as Jeanne and Han Anton might - as… _friendly_ as she may be."

I nodded, then leaned back with a sigh. "In any case, Haytham's left it up to you, an extra little olive branch, so to speak."

His brow furrowed. "What?"

I cleared my throat. "Haytham believes you'll be more cooperative if he does things like this - letting you have a choice in matters like these, I mean."

Connor stared at me. "'More cooperative?'"  
I got up, crossing the room to stand directly in front of him. "Haytham's got his own way of rationalizing the things he does. He means well, but…" I trailed off, then shook my head with an aggravated sigh. "Look, I'm gonna talk to him about it, okay? He's just… cold, sometimes."

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it to think for a moment. "Very well. But if anything he does jeopardizes the Assassins, my people, or something else that I should be concerned about, tell me."

"Of course. I wouldn't keep something like that from you." I told him. At least, I didn't think I would. If our plan to ally the orders didn't work out… I didn't want to think about that.

We stood there awkwardly for a moment until Connor cleared his throat. "You should return to your room."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. I, uh, I guess I'm just getting used to- y'know." I laughed, backing towards the door.

He gave me a small smile. "Get some sleep."

"You too." I left the room and closed the door gently. When I was once again in the room I'd be staying in, I stripped off the majority of my clothes, only leaving the shirt and pants I wore. After I'd put out the lights in the room, I sat down on the mattress, and fiddled with the necklace I wore. The simple leather cord the silver arrowhead dangled from was just barely long enough for me to look down and examine the small pendant.

It'd been an offhand gift from my mother when I'd started learning archery from my father. A tiny, little token that reminded me of one of the few good times of my childhood. My hands dropped to my lap. Maybe one day I'd be able to move on entirely from all that.

With a sigh, I curled up under the covers. It was, dare I say, almost lonely without Connor next to me. It wasn't good to get _that_ attached to people, especially not to someone who could be my enemy by tomorrow. Maybe Haytham had a point behind his nagging; I was a Templar and Connor was an Assassin. If things went awry, it would be downright _painful_ to fight him.

Then again, if I went down that path, it'd be hard to keep things peaceful between the orders. Connor and I were the ones primarily responsible for this push for peace, and it was vital for us to be close. Granted, maybe sleeping in the same bed wasn't exactly necessary to be close _figuratively_ , but still.

My reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door to my room. I sat up, grumbling under my breath, and called out, "Come in!"

Haytham let himself in, and quickly lit a couple of the lights again. He turned to where I was sitting in bed. "We need to have words."

"Now? At-" I took my watch from my pants pocket. "At ten twenty at night?"

"It's either now or tomorrow, and I know our earlier conversation is still fresh in your mind." He said, pulling out the chair from the desk in the room, sitting down across from me.

I groaned. "It's _late_ , Haytham. I want to sleep."

"And the sooner we've spoken, the sooner you can rest." His tone indicated there would be no arguing, but that didn't mean I had to be polite or nice.

I glared at him as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. "Fine. Let's _talk_ , Haytham. Let's talk about how you're one of the markedly _few_ major forces that could make or break this entire plan we've got going on. Let's talk about how much Connor _hates_ people lying to him, and how keeping things from him in _any_ capacity is quite possibly the _worst_ idea you could have in this situation."

His tone was as harsh as mine when he replied. "I am doing my duty as Grandmaster. It is my responsibility to ensure the Assassins are not a threat to us-"

I tried to interrupt him. "We need to-"

He carried on, ignoring me. "We need to look after our own interests first. This alliance is only going to be possible if both sides can continue to pursue their goals in their way. Those among our ranks didn't join the Order without reason, and you know that."

I kept my mouth shut and stared down at my lap. As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. All that time spent with him and Connor working out this whole thing had made that very clear. I just wanted this to work out, and to avoid unnecessary deaths.

A sigh left Haytham. "I understand this is important to you, but you are a _Templar_. You took an oath, and you are sworn to our cause. You have to understand what that means."

I looked at him. "Connor's my friend. You don't lie to friends."

A hint of sympathy glimmered in his eyes. "In our line of work, sometimes you must - especially when your friend is an Assassin."

I shook my head. "But still, in this case, I think it's best that we're just, y'know, open with him." As he opened his mouth, I quickly went to add, "It's not like we have to detail every little thing we do. We just… We don't hide things that concern him."

A long moment passed before he gave me an answer. "We'll see."

A pang of frustration shot through me, but I let that conversation die. I had something else on my mind. "Have you heard from Church recently?"

Haytham rose an eyebrow. "I thought he wasn't meant to become an issue until a few years from now."

I shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, the way things went before. But a lot of things have changed. I don't really know what's going to happen from here on out."

He nodded. "Then no one does. Take comfort in that, if nothing else." He leaned back in his chair, finally relaxing. "Church hasn't caused any major issues, I assure you."

"Oh, well… that's good." I said.

Haytham tapped a finger on his knee. "Yes, it is." His eyes found mine. "Connor hasn't told you his thoughts regarding our current predicament, has he?"

"Keep this between us, just in the odd event that he for whatever reason changes his mind, but he doesn't seem very fond of- of… shit, what was his name? It started with an 'L,' I think?" I couldn't for the life of me remember that man's name.

"Edgar Lawrence?" Haytham suggested.

"Yeah, him!" I confirmed. "Connor doesn't seem fond of him. He's worried the Earls might have their attention divided as they already have their own property to focus on-"

"Which leaves Abel or Anton and Jeanne." Haytham finished for me. "Any idea which he'd prefer?"

 _Jeanne and Anton_. "He was still kind of going over it when we last talked." I lied. I wasn't entirely sure what had prompted me to do so, but the words slipped out as smoothly as anything else.

Haytham sighed. "Right. I suppose I did say he has time." He stood, pushing the chair he'd been sitting back under the desk. "I'll let you get some rest. Tomorrow, I want you with Connor, for the same reasons I wanted you beside him today."

I nodded as he made his way towards the door. "Of course. Good night, Hayth."

"Good night, Courtney."


	23. Chapter 23: Chats and a Decision

I didn't sleep well throughout the night. I kept tossing and turning, from both nightmares and discomfort. The bed felt too soft, too cold, and too empty. I was happy when light finally began to creep through the curtains.

I got dressed quickly, smoothing out the wrinkles in the dark yellow waistcoat. I looked at my gloves for a second, taking note of how worn they were getting; the pads of the fingers and the palms were a few shades lighter than the rest, and the seams were starting to show damage. I'd have to replace them in the next few months. Maybe I'd get a pair to match the browns I usually wore.

I left my room and followed the delicious smell of what had to be breakfast. When I walked into the room, the only other people that were up were Ippolita, Pitcairn, and Lawrence.

I nodded to Pitcairn as I took a seat between him and Ippolita. Ippolita was already smiling at me when I turned to her.

"I hope you had a good sleep." She said.

I reached for the bacon and biscuits sitting right in front of me. "Could've been better, but thanks."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She brightened up with a thought. "Perhaps you could accompany me for a short walk? I am unfamiliar with the area, but I have heard you have been around here before."

I smiled at her. "So long as it's only a short walk, I guess there's no harm… Just let me finish breakfast first."

She beamed at me. "Oh, of course!"

* * *

After breakfast, Ippolita was all too excited to get out of the building. I couldn't help but grin at her determination for something so simple - though given my own history, I could relate.

"Thank you so much for accompanying me! I would have just asked one of the guards, but they're all such bad conversationalists!" She explained.

I chuckled. "It's not a big deal. This is nothing compared to my usual work."

At that, she turned to me with big, bright eyes. "You travel a lot, yes? You have to have seen some interesting places!"

I shrugged. "I've seen a few cities here in the colonies, met some people, killed some people. It's just my job."

She sighed wistfully. "I wish I had that luxury. My father required that I be kept inside most of the time as a girl, and after my brother took his property from me, I have only gone where the Order has needed me." She shook her head with a chuckle. "Most often, I am sent to balls to charm potential allies."

"I've only been to one. It was… an exciting experience." I said carefully, remembering the mess that Delacroix's ball had been.

She rose an eyebrow at me. "You do not strike me as the ball-going type."

"Someone _might_ have died. I also _might_ have stolen a carriage. And stolen a man's clothes, then left him with the wig I'd worn." I admitted sheepishly.

She laughed. "It sounds exciting. You should invite me the next time you attend one."

"For the host's sake, I hope that doesn't happen for a while." I said. We both laughed, and continued to joke around for the remainder of our walk. Her peppy demeanor and light-hearted teasing was a refreshing change from the grim old men I so often worked with.

* * *

When we returned to Johnson Hall, everyone else had woken up, and were talking amongst each other in the same room as last night. Ippolita excused herself, and I went to stand by an uncomfortable-looking Connor.

"Sorry for not being around when you woke up. Ippolita asked me to go on a little stroll with her." I explained.

"Pitcairn had mentioned that." He squirmed where he stood, more tense than usual. "May we speak in private?"

I nodded. "Yeah, of course."

He pulled me into another room, then turned the lock on the door behind us.

I rose an eyebrow at him. "Is that necessary?"

He turned to me, and let his hood down. He'd never been very comfortable with doing so in unfamiliar places, so that struck me as odd. "Did you find out anything regarding Ippolita Abel that might sway my choice?"

I took just a second to process his words, then smiled. "Well, it sounds like you've already made your choice."

"I have. I would just like to be certain before I announce it." He said.

"Well, in any case, no. We just walked and joked around a little. I didn't discover anything life-changing or earth-shattering while we were out." I said.

He took a deep breath. "Then I suppose I should tell my father my choice."

"That would be best." After examining him for a moment, I stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, is something wrong?"

He shook his head, paused, then nodded. "I am worried. My people's livelihood may depend on this one choice."

I licked my lips. "There're only two people in this building that were going to have the ability to choose," I said carefully. "And I think you're capable of making a better choice than Haytham."

He sighed softly. "That is true. I just… I do not want harm to come to them based on my decision."

"You're doing your best." I assured him. "Now, c'mon, we should get back before people start talking."

* * *

Just an hour later, we were all gathered around the room - minus Tommy, who'd apparently bent sent away by Haytham earlier that morning (I secretly found the idea of Tommy being up earlier than noon hilarious). All of us looked expectantly at Haytham. Soon, we'd be told who Connor had picked, and then we'd all go our separate ways. Connor and I would speak with Haytham and Pitcairn about our plans for the next few months, hopefully making rough plans for any battles that might take place.

Haytham cleared his throat, as though he had to make _sure_ he had our attention. "A decision has been made. While the majority of you will be returning to your homes, your service to the Order does not end here - take comfort in that fact."

He gestured for Connor to step forward. "Connor, would you mind?"

Connor took a breath. "Hans Anton and Jeanne, I trust you will care for my people well."

Hans smiled brightly at Jeanne, and signed something to her excitedly. She laughed quietly, unable to keep a large grin off her face.

The others, save Lawrence - who looked a tad bitter -, congratulated the pair, and took their leave. Ippolita stopped by me on her way out.

"We should meet up sometime, I think I would enjoy getting to know you." She suggested.

I hesitated. I was busy already, and I was only going to be busier in the next couple years, if the war _did_ break out in the coming months. "Do you have an address I can write to?"

She nodded enthusiastically. She took a moment to find a sliver of paper and a quill, and wrote it down, handing it to me. A place in New York. "I stay there with my brother. You are more than welcome to drop by whenever you are near, _ma chére_."

"I'll keep it in mind, thank you." I stared after her as she walked out, her dark braid bouncing as she walked along.

Jeanne and Anton received some instructions from Haytham, then they left the room, leaving me, Haytham, Pitcairn, and Connor.


	24. Chapter 24: Plans

Pitcairn took one of the now-empty seats. "I believe we have some important matters to discuss."

Haytham nodded, sitting on the couch. "Yes. First - Courtney, Connor," He looked at the two of us. "How have your efforts in building up the Brotherhood's ranks been coming along?"

"We are growing, but we have a long way to go." Connor answered.

Haytham looked to me, and I spoke as well. "The recruits they have are kept busy with training or running smaller tasks. Given a bit more time, the Brotherhood could flourish again."

"Are any capable of assisting in military affairs?" Haytham inquired.

Connor shook his head. "The only one we have recruited who could is busy with his own affairs. Once he completes those, then we may, but only if an extra ship is needed on the seas."

Pitcairn sighed. "The British army is preparing for whatever this little revolution might bring. If we continue to lose men to these rebels, we'll be making a move in the next five months, at a minimum."

Haytham hummed, then looked back to me. "While I'm aware things are changing from what you know, do you have any advice, Courtney?"

I sighed. "The most I can offer is... maybe taking out George Washington? Charles won't be able to do much for us while Washington is in charge without risking his reputation - and I get the feeling he would gladly do so, unfortunately."

"If Washington must die, I wish to be the one responsible." Connor all but demanded.

I looked at him, surprise written across my face. "What?"

"You and my father have told me time and time again during the months we spent in Boston that Washington is the one responsible for what happened to my village when-" He paused. "When I was young. If anyone should be the one to end him, it should be me."

I had no doubt Connor _could_ accomplish it, but it wasn't like it was set in stone that we would be doing that. Besides, if it went anything like some of his work in the original timeline, his involvement wouldn't exactly be subtle - that could harm his relations with some of his new recruits.

"We still need to make plans for the case that war breaks out in earnest in the next few months. Else, we may lose quite a bit of what we have worked toward." Haytham said, effectively getting us back on track, to my relief.

"While I will do what I am able to avoid any casualties for as long as I am able, at some point there will be a body count." Pitcairn warned. "My hands are tied by my obligations to the crown."

Haytham nodded. "We need as many of our own in power as is possible." He glanced at Connor. "What do you intend to do?"

Connor was quiet, considering his answer, for a moment. "It would be best for me to support the colonists when pressed to, if only to keep those in the Brotherhood from leaving."

"It would help to have as many people on both sides of the war as we can manage to get." I chimed in.

"Which is why you'll be continuing to travel with Connor and ensure communication between the orders." Haytham stated matter-of-factly.

"Of course." I said. Something told me that communication wasn't the only reason he had to keep me alongside Connor, but I figured we'd talk about it later.

"What is it we will be trying to accomplish by getting involved in the war?" Connor asked.

Haytham straightened up. "With any luck, we can minimize any casualties this war might bring, and still see the colonies become independent. They would need to set up more solid governments, and we could see our own, or-" He looked over Connor. "Or yours, I suppose, put in those positions of power."

"I would hope we would have an _even_ amount of say in what happens to the colonies, in any event." Connor said, the barest hint of a threat in his tone.

Haytham's expression told me he was biting back a snide comment, and I thanked the Gods for that. Connor wouldn't take well to his snarkiness in this situation.

Pitcairn spoke up again. "I would advise you all to keep an eye out for any plans the Patriots might make. With any luck, we might be able to prevent some bloodbaths."

"I hope so." I murmured low enough that only Connor could hear.

Haytham stood. "Well, if that's all, I believe we have little else to discuss. I suggest we get back to our own work."

Pitcairn nodded and stood as well. He held his fist over his heart, Haytham and I copying the action and saying those familiar words in sync: "May the Father of Understanding guide us."

We all went to our rooms, gathering our things and getting ready to leave.

* * *

I'd left my door ajar while I packed up my few belongings. The sharp sound of knuckles on hardwood caught my attention, and I looked up to see Haytham.

"I wanted to speak with you before we were separated for another few months." He said.

I stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in my clothes. "What about?"

He stepped closer, the familiar "Grandmaster" air coming back. "While traveling with Connor, your primary goal is to keep an eye on him. If he does anything that might endanger this little truce, I would like you to take care of the problem in whatever way you deem fit."

I inhaled sharply. "Even if it means killing him?"

He nodded solemnly. "The Order comes first. We have survived for centuries without working with the Assassins - as I said before, peace is only viable so long as we can both reach our goals."

"I don't- I don't _want_ to kill him. He's my friend." My tone was damn close to being _pleading_ , if I was being even half-honest.

Haytham looked at me with something that was either sympathy or pity. "In the lives we lead, we must make sacrifices. I trust you'll make the right decision when you must."

I felt a bit like a child, but Connor was a _friend_. You don't lie to, or hurt, or _kill_ your _friends_. I thought about Shay, and how much I had - and still - admired him. I'd ask him some time about my situation - if and when I saw him again. He'd understand more than anyone, I felt.

Haytham hesitated before he continued speaking. "Be careful, Courtney. If this war really is going to happen, it will be much more difficult for us all." He rested a hand on my shoulder. "I know you dislike killing, but your life is much more important than that of any soldier or militiaman."

On one hand, his words rubbed me the wrong way. I wasn't more important than anyone, and no one was more important than me - it unsettled me to think otherwise. On the other hand, I felt a surge of warmth at his apparent concern for me. It was all I could do to simply nod at his words.

Haytham stepped back, taking a deep breath. "Well, that's all I had to say. I wish you luck on your assignment."

He was turning for the door when my arms wrapped around his middle. He froze, caught off guard. "Courtney, what are you doing?"

I looked up at him. 'I'm hugging you. You're important to me."

That threw him off even more it seemed, and he awkwardly wrapped his arms around me in an attempt to return the gesture. "You're also rather important to me." He said quietly.

After a few long seconds, he stepped away from me and cleared his throat. "As I said, good luck."

I nodded. "Yeah. You too, with whatever it is you're doing."


	25. Chapter 25: A Long Few Months

Connor and I had followed up on leads on potential allies for three months. With the weather warming, we were able to forgo the inns and simply camp out in the woods, away from the prying eyes of the soldiers who patrolled the roads increasingly often. The last few attempts at recruiting had been unsuccessful, the people we propositioned declining for the sake of their family or business. The red-clad men who marched around the towns would attempt to arrest those who spoke of revolution, and many were afraid of losing what little property they owned to the army.

We were starting to pull at straws for people. With tension rising and tempers flaring, I had confidence we'd find others willing to join up with the Brotherhood - if only thanks to the revolution -, but we would have to be patient and stay sharp.

I'd written a letter to Ippolita, and gotten a reply within the next two weeks, sent to the Homestead. Her provocative nature shined through even in her writing, and I'd found myself giggling like a schoolgirl as I'd read the letter. She'd been ecstatic that I'd contacted her, and had, again, extended the invitation to visit her. I promised myself I would do so if Connor and I were ever nearby New York.

* * *

Now it was near the end of July, and Connor was growing more antsy with every passing day. Just that moment, he was pacing around the tiny area we'd settled down in. He claimed he was looking for enemies, but I knew that was a lie.

"Y'know, Con, prowling around like a caged cat isn't going to help anything." I drawled as he passed by me again. How was he not sweating his ass off with how hot it was?

"Perhaps if I were able to pursue Washington, I would be able to relax." He said sharply.

Ah, yes, his favorite subject, these last few weeks. "You know we can't."

" _You_ are the one who is unable to. I am not a Templar, and Haytham's word cannot stop me." He growled.

"Oh, of course not. But it can certainly make you reconsider, can't it?" I shot back.

He whirled around, a hard look in his eye. "The only reason I have waited this long is because I do not wish for the war between our sides to continue."

I snorted. "Yeah, I kinda figured that. It's the same reason I'm doing quite literally _everything_ I do."

He dropped the subject, heaved a heavy sigh, and sat down next to me, our knees touching. "Do you ever have doubts?" He asked after a few tense minutes.

"About what I'm trying to do?" I asked.

He nodded.

I shrugged. "I try not to think about it too hard. I figure it'll just complicate things even more."

"But what if, despite everything you do, it all amounts to nothing? What if it all falls apart? What will you do?" He pressed.

"I… don't know. Really, I'm pretty much throwing everything I've got into this one idea." I admitted.

"What do you _think_ you would do?" He questioned.

I took in a deep breath. "Continue working for the Templars, I suppose." I studied him for a moment. "Would you do any differently if you were in my position?"

He had no response, and we fell into a comfortable silence for a while.

I was dozing off, leaning on Connor despite the heat, when he shook me awake. "Do you have any contacts in Boston?" He asked quietly.

"Why?" I looked at him blearily, confused.

"I wish to see if there are other things we can focus our attention on." He explained. "I am sure some of the others, like Stephane, can take over our current duties."

"I know a few people from my days of being a courier. We can talk about it tomorrow. I'm tired right now." I grumbled, leaning on him once more.

He scoffed. "You should at least fall asleep on the bed rolls." He gently pushed me towards the items in question, a soft smile on his face when I lazily flopped towards them. I huffed as I sat up and removed most of my clothes. It was hot enough that I knew I'd end up sweating even in the shirt and pants I still kept on. It was a damn shame crop-tops were neither common nor acceptable in this time.

For some time after that, I simply lied sprawled out on the bedrolls, dead to the world. Connor crawled in with me, nudging me so he had room to lay down without one of us having a heatstroke halfway through the night.

* * *

We did as Connor wished, and for a few months, we aided some of the Templars - and Assassins, few though there were - in Boston. The place was a political battlefield: people starting riots in the streets, berating local and distant politicians alike, writing pamphlets on why the British Crown was unfit to rule over the colonies. Loyalists would join in with soldiers in attempting to put down the especially violent riots. Connor and I had to step in to protect a few Patriotic vigilantes more than once.

We would hear word of skirmishes between the British and the increasingly militant Patriots, of ambushed convoys, of what would otherwise be considered full-out battles between the rebels and the red-coats. The regular correspondence between Haytham and I grew erratic, couriers being more hesitant to carry messages with the danger traveling entailed. They were terrified to end up like the men left to rot on the ground.

More than once, Connor and I would run across such groups of corpses, cold and bloated, hair falling out, nails sunken in, covered in blisters. I'd seen dead bodies, but the discolored, marbled skin on the bodies that had been forgotten in the sun for days or weeks was something new. Holding down my most recent meal was all I could do.

For all the violence going on around us, all the men - British soldiers and militiamen alike - we'd had to kill throughout the summer, we hadn't been called to a battle. The Continental army was well on its way to forming, with men like George Washington, Artemas Ward, and our own Charles Lee taking charge quickly.

It was to my, Connor's, and Haytham's disdain alike, that Washington was _still_ the most likely candidate to become commander in chief thanks to his experience and popularity. Lee would have suited us best, and even Ward would have been preferable. It was looking ever more likely that Washington would become a target.

The letters between Ippolita and I - just as erratic as those between Haytham and I - only did so much to distract me from all the chaos. Sure, the words (she wrote like a poet, and I found myself flustered while reading her rather suggestive letters more than once) were a nice break from the tension present everywhere else, and Ippolita did her best to reassure me about things, but war wasn't something you ignored. Her way with words and her ever-friendly (or as close to "friendly" as "flirty" got) nature always made me smile, but stress still weighed on me from nearly every which way.

I was getting as antsy as Connor at this point. Sure, the various missions we'd be sent on (these days, it involved an awful lot of death, whether it be targeted or simply wiping out a squad of armed men in blue or red to ensure things were a little more even) kept us busy, but we had other things we could be focusing on. I found myself hoping with each letter Haytham sent, I'd be summoned to one of the bigger battles. I was growing tired of waiting, and Connor was damn near the end of his patience.

When finally, _finally_ , early in September one afternoon, Haytham requested my presence at our old haunt, the Green Dragon Tavern, I was eager to get to work. There was just one _tiny_ stipulation…

The words had sounded forced as they'd left my lips when I'd told Connor. "He wants me there alone. You'll have to wait here."

Connor had done a poor job of hiding his clearly negative feelings on the matter. He hadn't put up a fight, but after nearly two years of knowing him, I could read him well enough to know he didn't like it. Maybe it was the fact that we'd spent roughly nine months by each other's side at damn near all times, sharing everything from information to living space. It was odd to go back to keeping secrets for our orders' sakes after that long.

Before I'd left, I'd cautiously hugged him, muttering something forgettable about how I'd be back before he knew it. He'd returned the gesture, uttering something in response about how he didn't want us to be separated for _too_ long.

It hadn't really helped to calm the anxiety in my gut. For all our attempts at peace, we were still on opposing sides at the end of the day. I only hoped this - _all_ of this - would all end well.


	26. Chapter 26: Brief Briefing

My entire being was buzzing with energy when I slipped into the Green Dragon in the afternoon. I flew up the stairs despite my efforts to contain my excitement, and joined Haytham at the table, the surface of the thing covered in papers and books and letters.

Neither of us wasted a second with formalities, and Haytham got straight to the point.

"I've gotten word that the Patriots will be attacking Pitcairn's regiment on or before the 15th of the month. I need you to be there, and I need you to try and arrange for a parlay either when or before the battle begins. With any luck, we can prevent some needless bloodshed." He slid an envelope towards me - no doubt it contained more details on the task I'd been given.

"And if I can't manage that?" I asked, pocketing the envelope to read it later. It was best to have a back-up plan in case things went awry.

"Eliminate the Patriot leaders present, if you must. But use discretion - you know well who we need alive in order for this war to go our way." Haytham replied.

"I'll do my best." I said.

A glance from him and his next words made me frown. "If Connor creates any issues - if he tries to stop you, or kill someone we need alive - I want you to take care of him." I opened my mouth to argue, but he carried on before my words could leave my mouth. "Even if it means killing him."

"I- We'll see." I said. Haytham's eyes narrowed, but he let it be, gesturing for me to leave.

I stood and walked a few paces towards the stairs. A reluctant part of me didn't want to leave, unused to such short, impersonal visits with Haytham. "Have things been well with you?" I asked.

Haytham gave a tiny shrug. "As well as they can be, given our circumstances."

The next question I asked just slipped out. "Can we work together anytime soon?"

Haytham sighed, turning his torso so he could look at me. "I couldn't say. If I require you by my side, you will be the first to know."

I nodded. "Alright. I just… I was just curious."

He turned back to his work. "You should get going, Courtney."

"Of course. I'll… I'll see you around, Hayth." I did my best to shrug off the pang of hurt at being dismissed so easily. Haytham knew I could handle myself, and he was a busy man; he wouldn't always have time for me. The fact that he'd arranged to speak with me in person like this was more than he'd do for many members of the order, anyway, no matter how impersonal the short mission briefing had been.

The air was comfortable when I left the tavern. Autumn was here, and it brought with it an oddly serene feeling that contrasted with the ongoing war.

I made my way over rooftops and back towards the inn where I'd left Connor waiting.

I walked to our shared room quickly, ignoring the curious glances of a handful of patrons. The door behind me clicked shut quietly, and I turned to look at Connor. He stood from the chair he'd been seated in, leaving the book he'd been reading in his place.

He stepped closer. "What news do you have?"

"There's to be a fight between Pitcairn's men and some Patriots within the next…" I thought back to the date Haytham had told me. "Week and three days. Pitcairn wants us to be there."

"Are we to ensure his victory?" A hint of disdain laced his question.

I quirked a brow. "Only if we can't help resolve the situation peacefully." I pushed past him to fall face-first on the bed, wondering if I should go through the letter now, or sleep and get an extremely early start tomorrow. The latter seemed much more favorable at the moment.

"What does he want us to do?" Connor sat down beside me, leaning over me.

I craned my neck around to look at him, brushing my hair out of my face. I'd have to get it cut soon - it was more than long enough to tie back now, and I was annoyed by it more than ever. "Arrange a parlay. Kill the Patriot leaders if we can't. You know anyone that could help us talk to the Patriots without getting shot?"

He tapped a finger on the sheets. "It is unlikely. I made a few contacts throughout the colonies before we met, though I doubt any will be able to help on such short notice."

"Nice." I mumbled sarcastically against my arm, closing my eyes. "I'm gonna go to sleep now. Get an early start tomorrow."

"Are you at least going to take these off?" He tugged on one of the many belts I wore, my weapons nestled in the sheaths and holsters attached to them.

I grunted, not offering a real response.

He sighed. "I am not going to sleep with you when your pistol and sword are digging into my hip." He flipped me over - to my annoyance - and started unbuckling the strips of leather. I reached up and pulled myself to him to halt his efforts, burying my face in his chest.

"Courtney." He ground out. "They're coming off."

" _Fine_." I laid back, fiddling with the buckles lazily as Connor got to work on his own clothes. While I was taking off the second to last belt, his fingers brushed against my hair.

I glanced up at him before resuming my work on the last two belts. "I need to get it cut, I know."

"I think it looks nice." He said, letting the strands fall to my shoulder. "Though short hair did suit you better."

"I make everything look nice. But I have to agree with that last part, too." I shimmied on the bed awkwardly, taking off the last belt, my coat, my waistcoat, and the boots I wore. They joined the small pile of belts lying on the floor.

I rolled over onto my stomach again and let my head drop to where I could look at Connor. "This good, Con?"

He hummed in response. "I suppose."

I huffed. "'Suppose' yourself, doll."

He shook his head with a small laugh before he started on his own clothes.

I watched him unabashedly as he shirked off his shirt. "You should consider a new look. Just run around shirtless. Maybe the enemy'll be so scared by your amazing physique that they'll just surrender."

He rose an eyebrow at me as he got to work on his boots. "When you make comments like that, I cannot help but wonder if you have other motives for sleeping with me."

I snorted, hiding my face in the mattress so he wouldn't see how I blushed. "You shouldn't think too hard, sweetie."

I heard him chuckle again as he layed down beside me, slinging an arm across my back.

"Good night." He murmured.

I turned my head to look at him. "Night, Con."


	27. Chapter 27: Early Riser

I was woken by a sharp movement next to me. I drowsily lifted my head, looking for Connor in a sleepy haze.

He was sitting up, his head in his hands. The breaths he took were short and fast, and he was trembling like a leaf. I sat up quickly as soon as I recognized the situation for what it was.

"Nightmare?" I asked softly.

He looked at me and nodded.

I hesitantly moved closer to him, cautiously laying a hand on his arm. "Wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head. "It is the same as usual." He said quietly.

"Oh. Alright." I shifted closer, leaning into his side.

It wasn't the first time he'd had a nightmare during the time we'd been sharing our sleeping space. The first couple times, he'd blamed his startled awakenings on noises he claimed he'd heard. One night, I'd awoken to him shaking - just like tonight -, and I'd had to do my best to calm him down. He'd insisted it wasn't necessary - not unlike I had the first time he'd calmed me down from a nightmare -, but relented when I said he didn't have to talk about it if he didn't want to.

At some point during the next few months, he did, and he'd brokenly elaborated on the details of that terrible day - things I couldn't even see in-game. He'd told me how the memories had plagued him nearly every night for the first few weeks after his mother's death, then how they slowly became less and less common. He told me that he hadn't talked about them to anyone else in years, preferring to keep it to himself.

But, right now, we didn't speak. It was easier this way, sometimes.

I felt him slip his arms around me, and I did the same, holding him tight and rubbing his back. It felt awkward, given how big he was compared to me, but it worked.

"I miss her." He muttered into my shoulder. "I want her back."

"I know." I squeezed him.

He was quiet for a little while longer before he decided to lay down again, dragging me with him. "Do you… know anything of my mother? From what you know from your time?" He asked in a quiet voice once we were settled.

"She was…" I thought back to the early sequences of the game and the DLC, to the little that had been shown of Ziio. "She was strong. She spoke her mind, fought for the things she believed in, and she wasn't afraid to sacrifice things. She was dedicated, kind, proud. She's someone I'd want to be like, honestly. " I hesitated before I continued. "You're a lot like her."

There was another lull in the quiet conversation before he spoke again. "Do you think she would be proud of me?"

I looked at him and nodded. "Yeah. I think she would be."

His hold on me tightened. We fell asleep again after some time, though I couldn't say who drifted off first.

I woke up before Connor did, and pried myself out of his arms without waking him. Easier said than done, but I'd had some practice. I grabbed my coat off the floor, digging into one of the inside pockets, looking for the envelope I'd been given yesterday.

"Aha!" I pulled it from the garment. I let the brown coat drop back to the floor and grabbed one of my daggers. I sliced the envelope open and placed the blade back in its sheath, I pulled out the document enclosed and squinted to read it in the dark room.

It was less of a letter and more a list of information. Pitcairn was set up at a fort in Monmouth, fending off the Patriots that hassled the soldiers there. Due to a "mysterious" fire some months ago (more likely arson), the fort was vulnerable, and a target for the local rebels. A logical move on their part, I supposed, but I'd have to see the full extent of the damage before I could say much more.

The fort was overmanned, men forced to sleep outside the fort walls in tents. The only thing keeping them from starving with the inadequate storage available was their proximity to water. Small vessels would bring food, ammunition, ale, medicine, weapons - whatever they needed.

It wasn't a good set-up, though. If the rumored "Continental Navy" was growing as had been told in so many taverns, they'd lose the fort before the end of the war. Between whatever damage it had suffered and the location, it would fall to the Patriots eventually. Our work in the next few weeks would be a mere band-aid on a much larger wound.

I leant down to grab one of a handful of maps out of my coat pocket, spreading it out on the small table in the room and lighting a candle. I supposed I could at least familiarize myself with the area around the fort before Connor woke.

I was still hunched over my map by the time Connor woke up, looking at the different defenses the fort _might_ have and trying to compensate for whatever part had been decimated in flame, examining the surrounding woodlands for any routes the Patriots might take, trying to figure out just how long it would take if they took one route as compared to another. The gears in my head were turning so hard and so fast that I didn't even notice he was up until he leaned over my shoulder.

"Working hard, I see." He said.

"I'll have to actually see the fort before I can come up with a concrete plan. Right now I'm just trying to get an idea of what it could be like. It's… kind of just stressing me out, in all honesty." I admitted.

"Then we should get going, so you can stop stressing." He walked over to the pile of clothes on the ground, picking his out of it and putting them on. I followed suit, after stretching to get rid of some of the kinks in my back and neck.

Within moments afterwards, we'd set off for Fort Monmouth.


	28. Chapter 28: Apprehension

We arrived at Fort Monmouth in two days, pushing Antony and Connor's mare (I'd begun to suggest names for her, though he apparently didn't think "Boudicca" was a good name for a horse) to move faster than usual. We'd need all the time we could get to scope out the area and form a plan.

The damage to the Fort was worse than I would have expected after so many months. Half of the wall facing the water was virtually gone, the remainder reduced to cracked, scorched fragments that would do little to repel any attackers. It looked like what reconstruction that had been started had been neglected over time. Tents were set up around the Fort, with men moving between them as they went about their business.

"Now where the hell is Pitcairn…" I muttered, looking about the tents and into the section of the fort visible through the hole.

I spotted him on the other side of the tents, talking to some of his men, and Connor and I began to make our way towards him. A couple soldiers gave us odd looks, but let us be. Maybe they'd been given word before hand that Pitcairn had people coming. I wasn't sure.

"Major Pitcairn." I called out as we approached. He turned, nodded to the three he'd been speaking to, and walked toward us as we dismounted.

"Courtney Lynn. Connor." He dipped his head to us both. "I assume the Grandmaster's already given you some details?"

"A few. It'll be good for us to get a feel of the land before anything happens." I replied.

"True. The Patriots have been getting more restless with each day. Many are staying in houses nearby as opposed to the small camps some have set up, so it's hard to gauge just how many are around. A pain in the arse to figure out who's in charge, too." He explained, looking out towards the forests and fields.

"We'll do our best to find the commanding officer. Hopefully, this can end without too many deaths." I said, eyes following his gaze.

He looked at me with something akin to pity, something many people seemed to feel for me these days. "War rarely gives us that pleasure."

I glanced at him. "Maybe this time we'll get lucky." I wasn't sure how much I believed the words myself anymore. I was just hoping I could keep the Templars, Assassins, and Kanien'kehá:ka from suffering major losses at this point. Maybe the colonists, too, but mostly the other three groups.

Connor and I spent the next week scouting around the area, careful to avoid being seen by enemy troops, just in case. We were able to find out that a man named Anthony Wayne was in charge, aided by a man by the name of William Teague. Wayne was making a name for himself with his bold maneuvers and natural leadership capabilities, while rumors were circulating that Teague might betray them. Connor and I agreed we'd have to keep an eye on the both of them if - more like _when_ \- fighting broke out.

Connor had attempted to speak to Wayne once, insisting that a compromise could be reached. All he'd accomplished was getting run off in the most peaceful manner possible. It would have to wait for the battle, then.

One day, I'd finally grown tired of my hair, and asked one of the red-clad men with short, decently cut hair to chop mine off. He'd balked at first, but complied when I offered him a small amount of money. When he'd finished cutting it roughly the way I wanted - back to the same 3 or so inches everywhere-, I'd handed him the payment and left feeling a bit lighter than before.

The night before the fifteenth, the final day they were rumored to attack, we sat together in a small clearing in the forest, the Fort distant enough that we had some privacy, but close enough for us to react in the event of an emergency. For the first time in a week, I was able to lay my head on Connor's lap and unwind while listening to the sounds of the forest.

It was one of those times where things seemed to slow down, the worries of the world melted away, and you could just lay wherever you were and forget about everything that wasn't right there with you at that moment. It was nice, given the likelihood of battle the next day. My eyes were half-closed, I was so content with the moment.

Connor was running his hands through my recently-cut hair, as gentle as he always was. One of my hands reached up to toy with his dark locks in turn. He let out a tiny sigh, letting his eyes slip closed. He looked more at ease than he ever did, save for when he slept.

An idea popped into my head, and I glanced away from his relaxed face, suddenly anxious. There was still the _monumental_ issue of our allegiances. And besides, would it even be okay with him? My gaze shifted back to him back to him, focusing on his lips. I mean, I suppose I _could_ ask, and the worst that could happen is he say no to the question and we act awkward for a few days.

"Con?" I managed to get out, somehow not choking on the single syllable.

His eyes slowly opened. "Yes?"

I gulped and adjusted myself so I was leaning up a bit, supported by one elbow pressed against the ground.

I licked my lips, my eyes flicking away from his face. "Would you mind if I- uh, I mean- I wanna-" I stopped myself. "Can I braid your hair?" I asked lamely.

Connor stared at me for a moment, clearly confused. He nodded and I sat up, trying to ignore the rapid beating of my heart as I moved behind him.

I focused on braiding his dark, silky hair, relieved that he couldn't see the way my cheeks burned with embarrassment. What had I been _thinking_ to believe it'd be a good idea to kiss him? Sure, we flirted damn near every time we spoke, and sure, we'd catch each other staring every now and then, but I was a Templar, and he was an Assassin. It was for the best that we avoid getting involved in such a way - at least until our orders could cooperate more smoothly.

Each time he'd try to start a conversation after I'd finished messing with his hair, my short, clipped answers would make him grow quiet, very obviously aware that something was making me tense. He didn't pry, thank the Gods, but there was no denying he was curious about my uncharacteristic nervousness.

Once he'd fallen asleep, leaving me to take the first watch that night, I finally allowed myself to really think on the matter, rather than just sweep it aside in a panic.

I had no doubts that I had feelings for Connor, ones that were most certainly _not_ entirely platonic. And with the way he acted around me, I suspected he returned those feelings in some way or another. Had we met and gotten to know each other under different circumstances, perhaps we'd be able to explore what that meant.

But no, it was a bad idea to pursue a romantic relationship with him with everything going on. Asking "what if" about a thousand different scenarios wouldn't change that.

Maybe if we managed to work out everything that was going on - the revolution, Templar-Assassin unity, building up the Brotherhood, whatever it was that was going on between Ippolita and I in our letters, anything else that might pop up -, we might be able to think about it then. But now? No. We were better off remaining friends.

After having rationalized things in my mind, I focused on actually looking out for any enemies that might be prowling about.


	29. Chapter 29: The Battle Begins

Before I knew it, I was being shaken awake. It was still dark out, and Connor was whispering my name urgently.

"What? What is it?" I mumbled.

"The Patriots are moving. We need to get going _now_." He helped me up, and we quickly picked up the few belongings we had strewn about our campsite. Thankfully, we'd slept in our full gear, so we saved a solid few minutes.

"I'll try to speak to Wayne, you try to get to Teague. If they don't cooperate, they won't be missed." I said, turning towards the direction I heard voices drifting from.

Connor grabbed my arm at the last minute. "Do your best to keep Wayne alive. And… be safe."

I smiled. "You too."

We bounded off into the forest, and I lost track of him after just a few seconds. I ascended into the trees, moving quickly, the militiamen below unaware of the danger lurking just overhead.

I halted when I came across a group moving slower than the rest. My ears strained to hear the words coming from their mouths.

"Damnit man, how'd you go and do this?" One complained.

"It's not my fault I tripped over a damn branch!" Another defended.

"We need to move faster, your ankle isn't gonna stop us." Said a third.

The injured one gaped at the rest. "You can't just _leave_ me here!"

"We've got a battle to get to, you'll be fine." Another said, walking off.

Against the pleading of the injured man, the rest followed after the one who'd walked off. A couple muttered apologies, but they went nonetheless.

I counted to three once they were out of earshot before dropping to the ground, prompting a startled gasp from the man on the ground.

This close, I could make out the sickening twist of his ankle in the darkness. He was struggling to crawl away, one hand going for his pistol as I got closer.

I kicked the pistol out of his hand just as he got it out of his holster. A tiny cry left him at the sharp strike to his hand, and his hand was jerked back towards him, cradled against his chest. He stared at me with wide eyes as I crouched down.

"I'm looking for a man named Anthony Wayne. Where is he?" I asked calmly.

His head shook furiously, a quiet, broken cry coming from his lips. I rolled my eyes.

"Look, I have no intention of harming you - so long as you cooperate. In fact, if you make this easy, I'll give you a little something to take care of the pain." I offered.

He swallowed hard. "What do you want with Wayne?"

My lips curled into a pleasant smile. "Simple: I want to negotiate. With any luck, we can let this little bout of bloodshed end before too many people lose their lives. That'd be nice, right?"

He looked me up and down, the fear slowly but surely fading from his eyes at the tiny show of softness on my part.

When he didn't say anything after a moment, I leaned back with a sigh. "If you're going to be difficult," My hands drew my pistol from its holster smoothly, and my eyes examined it indifferently. "I can always put a bullet in your skull instead."

He shook his head, words spilling forth like a waterfall. "He's with the second group! To the- to- uh, the east! East of here, right along the river!"

I cocked my head and quirked my lip. "Now what's he doing along the river?"

He hesitated, but my gaze trailing back to the gun in my hand seemed to be rather persuasive. "The pier! They want to cut off Fort Monmouth's access to emergency supplies and any escape by water- come along the rocky shore and go in through that big hole in the wall and wreck what they can- I was with Teague, I don't know anything else- I swear!"

I stood back up with a satisfied sigh. "Thank you. And- here," I dug around in my pocket, then threw a small tub at his feet. He flinched when it hit the ground, then looked between it and me. "For your ankle."

I didn't stay to explain how to use the salve I'd left him, and just hoped the poor fool didn't try to eat it or something. I rushed off towards the river, dodging the small groups of men moving through the woods. Just as I burst out of the trees and nearly fell into the water, gunshots resounded through the forest.

I swore under my breath. That had to be Teague's half, if Wayne really was going to sabotage the pier and the small boats docked there. I had to hurry, otherwise this could turn nasty in a heartbeat.

I sprinted alongside the river, glancing to my sides to see if they might be hiding in the shadows of the woods.

There, a couple hundred meters ahead. I slowed to a jog, catching my breath. Where was Wayne?

A man in a grey coat was making gestures, three others would repeat the gestures, the lot of them directing the other men. The one in grey - that had to be Wayne.

I climbed into the trees again, approaching the group as quietly as I could. It wouldn't bode well for me if I had to fight the entire group at once all on my own. Not even a _decade_ of Haytham's rigorous training could possibly prepare me for that.

They spoke quietly among each other, relaying orders Wayne was giving to them. They moved as quickly as a group their size reasonably could. They didn't outnumber the men in the overcrowded fort, but if they managed to get to the powder reserves and infiltrate from the pier - as their hushed talk suggested -, the fort would be theirs before noon, without question.

My biggest issue at the moment was getting to Wayne. It was looking ever more likely that I'd have little choice in killing him from afar, due to the sheer amount of men surrounding him.

I guessed I could try to simply approach him. I was here under Pitcairn's orders - more or less -, and it would be rather rude to dispatch a messenger. It wouldn't be nearly as rude to do away with a killer, should I choose to try and put a bullet in his head right off the bat.

The trees were growing more sparse. I had to make a choice quickly, else I might miss my window of opportunity.


	30. Chapter 30: A Sad Turn of Events

A gunshot and pained cry came from the middle of the group, and men went sprawling as others jumped away from the source.

One man stood, his musket at his feet, staring at the writhing form on the ground before him. An accident, likely due to inexperience. With any luck, they group would be slowed down long enough for me to get close to Wayne.

I dropped to the ground, immediately spotted by a handful of men, who pointed their rifles at me. My hands rose just above my head. "I'm not here to fight."

"Then you'd best go home." One demanded.

I shook my head. "I'm here to speak with Anthony Wayne."

"Wayne's a little busy right now, sweetheart, get moving." He nodded to the area behind them, where they'd come from.

I had to bite back a hostile reply. A fight right here, among all the Patriots would only end in me getting riddled with bullet holes. "It's about Fort Monmouth. It's important."

He glared at me. "Then you can tell me, and I'll tell Wayne."

I shook my head again. "I _am_ going to talk to Wayne."

He was going to argue again when a hand fell on his shoulder. The man in the grey coat - definitely Wayne, with the way the other men stood down immediately - pushed him gently out of the way. "What news do you bring?"

My hands fell to my sides, stepping forward. "Major Pitcairn is open to the possibility of parlay. Your time to end this peacefully is running out."

"The fort will be ours. If the Major is open to sacrificing it, then we can talk." He said firmly.

My words were measured, carefully chosen in an attempt to appeal to him. "Your determination is admirable, Master Wayne. But wouldn't you rather see if there's a way to figure this all out civilly, as opposed to asking your men to throw away their lives for a damaged fort? You can back out of a deal, it's a tad bit more difficult to bring the dead back to life."

He narrowed his eyes. _Oh, did I hit a soft spot?_ "I suggest you leave. I'm not sure how you found us, but we have a goal in mind. If you, Pitcairn, or anyone else get in our way, you'll be treated like every other red-coated bastard that we've shot."

I opened my mouth to argue back, but the raising of muskets stopped me. I dipped my head. "Of course. Just watch out, Master Wayne. This night won't end well for you."

He sneered. "I suggest you take your own advice and make sure you don't get a bullet in the back, Miss…?"

"If you needed to know my name, I'd have given it." I moved away into the trees, frustration washing over me. This could have been resolved peacefully, but people just _had_ to be needlessly difficult.

They started moving too quickly for me to take advantage of the cover the trees would have offered. Two men were left behind with the one who'd been shot. I looked back toward Wayne and the men following him. He had the air of a leader about him, something I could respect. It was a shame he'd have to die, if his mind really couldn't be changed.

Then again, maybe I just had to take out the three who were helping him. Cause a little chaos, get him to call for a retreat. It was preferable to killing someone who could potentially prove to be a boon to the colonial forces later on.

Moving fast was my only choice if I was to reach the piers before them. If nothing else, I could alert the men there, and they could prepare. Then, I could take care of Wayne if the situation necessitated as much.

My legs moved as quickly as they could, the muscles in them burning with exertion. They'd be sore all over when I laid down for sleep later, and for days afterwards.

I stumbled to a stop as soon as I entered the clearing around the fort. Dozens of muskets would shoot at one time, voices of men - leaders and followers alike - carried through the open air. I had to take a moment to take it all in. It dawned on me that if I wanted to reach the fort, going around the battle would take far too long; I'd have to run through the barrages of musket fire.

My heart pounded in my ears; the threat of taking a ball of lead to _any_ part of my body was unappealing, and to simply charge in headfirst would surely result in me getting killed. I paused to note the pattern of firing that was taking place. Every ten seconds, one side would fire. I'd have ten seconds between each round to get to one of the various pieces of cover being used by both sides. I couldn't lose track of time, or of whose turn it was to fire.

With a deep breath, I rushed forward.

I reached a tree and pressed my back against it just as Pitcairn's side fired. Wood splintered to the sides my head, raining down around. I scrambled to move to the other side, ignoring the confused and concerned shouts of the Patriots behind me. I waited for them to fire, and after half a second had passed after without a bullet thudding into the ground or the wood, I sprinted for another tree.

I repeated this little routine as I made my way across the battlefield. My heart would leap up into my throat each time a bullet slammed into something near me, and I wondered if instead of a bullet being my end, it would instead be my own heart giving out to stress.

I was almost across the field when I stumbled. It was a split second of a hindrance, but it was _almost_ enough time for a ball of lead to tear into my arm. I cursed, reciting nearly every swear I'd ever heard, as I ducked into cover.

I looked at where the bullet had nearly grazed me, and saw the tear it had left in my coat. That had been far too close for comfort. I was close enough to the fort that I was able to take a few seconds to simply breathe - then some kindly red-coat dashed over to me, asking if I was okay and escorting me to Pitcairn.

Pitcairn saw me coming towards him. "Any word?"

"Wayne is leading a group around to the side of the fort. He intends to storm the place through the damaged wall and sabotage the pier." I answered, waving the man at my side off with a tiny nod in thanks.

He cursed under his breath, then warily eyed my arm. "Can you still fight?"

"It only harmed my coat. I'll manage as well as I ever have." I glanced away. "I'll need some of your men to engage them, else I won't be able to get close enough to take out the guys in charge."

He nodded. "Some are stationed there already, I'll send word for those on standby to head back there."

He went back to shouting orders. I hated how loud this all was.

I made my way to the back of the fort, thanking the Gods I hadn't been hit. Gunshots had a nasty way of getting infected, and it was _lovely_ to not have to worry about that right now.

When I arrived, men were already organizing, preparing for the oncoming Patriots. I nodded to some I recognized from the time I'd been here, and waited.

One never quite realizes how slowly time passes until they're waiting. In this case, it only allowed apprehension and tension to build up in me. A quick look around told me it had the same effect on the men around me.

I decided then that I was far more impatient than I'd ever realized.


	31. Chapter 31: Wayne

I wasn't sure if I was _really_ all that mad about the gunshots that broke the tense moment. Patriots were firing from behind trees along the cliff, the water below sloshing menacingly. They weren't able to make it to the damaged wall, at least. The firing line of soldiers ensured that much. I crouched behind cover with a soldier, peeking out to survey the situation.

Wayne was leading the fray, firing alongside his men. His voice would carry through the air mid-loading, and his second in commands would echo the commands. If I took them out and distracted Wayne, the other soldiers would be at a loss for what to do. All I had to do was get close enough to kill them, and avoid getting shot. Simple - in theory, anyway.

My eyes trailed towards the river. If I came from the same way they had, I'd manage to surprise them to some extent, and at least take out one before they figured out what I was doing.

Once again, I took off in a sprint. My head would whip to the sides every few seconds to make sure no one was targeting me. Thankfully, Teague's men were on the other side of the fort, and Wayne's men were too occupied with firing at said fort to take note of me.

I reached the river and turned, slowing down to a run. Maybe I should thank Haytham for making me run laps around the manor so many days - or _maybe_ I should keep that thought to myself.

One of the co-leaders was in the perfect position for me to reach him. My arms pushed aside a confused soldier in the process, but my target fell with a swift jab with a hidden blade. Instantly, my gaze sweeped the area in search of my next target.

The men around me raised their muskets, intending to skewer me with the bayonets mounted on them. It was a miracle I managed to draw my sword to parry one's strike, and shove him out of my way.

I ducked out of the way of another bayonet, along with another volley of musket fire from the fort. My mind only just registered my second target a dozen meters away, aiming down the barrel of his musket as he repeated Wayne's orders. I fought my way towards him, using men as shields against the oncoming lead. The sound of steel meeting steel rang through the air every passing second as I fought off the men around me. Even with the redcoats firing on them, these men were proving the be a difficult fight.

I finally managed to reach my target, and he was ready for me. My hands failed to draw my pistol before he was on me, his sword arcing toward me.

I jumped back, the steel whistling past me. In the next instant, my blade thrust towards him. He blocked it with his own sword, pushing me back at the same time the lobsterbacks fired once more.

I was nearly impaled on the bayonet of a waiting man, but twisted out of the way just in time. I straightened up once more, and found two other men had joined in.  
"Fucking fantastic." I muttered. They circled me like wolves, and I turned, watching them as closely as I could. Being outnumbered was never good.

One lunged towards me, missing when I rolled out of the way. Before I stood, I plunged my sword into the thigh of another man, causing him to fall to a knee with a shout. The blade pulled out with a sickening, wet sound, then was pushed through his chest. Blood spurted from both his wound and his mouth as I pulled back on the blade.

A look up told me yet another man had joined, and I growled in frustration.

The sound of gunshots filled the air once more. Two men fell, clutching at their torsos. One was my target. Lucky me.

Abandoning the fight, I moved away as quickly as I was able, dodging rounds of gunfire as I searched for my final target. The men around me were starting to fall into disarray, some not hearing the orders Wayne called out, and others frantically trying to make up for the men they were losing.

The last target was clutching at his bloodied leg, still echoing orders in a strained voice. I unholstered my pistol. His eyes met mine as the barrel was pointed towards him, and his head jerked back violently with the impact of the bullet when I pulled the trigger.

I crouched behind a tree to avoid any incoming shots from my allies, casting my gaze around. Men were scrambling around, trying to figure out what to do. With every resounding booming of gunshots, a couple more men would fall to the ground, either writhing in pain or not moving at all. Some tried to help the wounded, and there were precious few men still around to actually put up a fight. Wayne would have to be a madman to not call for a retreat at this point.

Men were already turning back, and Wayne was reluctantly ordering the few men left around him to try and help the wounded flee.

Then he saw me. His face contorted in anger as he took in the blood covering my clothes, dripping from my sword, and flecked upon my face. He called out one last order to retreat, then faced me, drawing closer.

"I warned you, Wayne." I said as he approached. The gunfire from the fort was dying down. With so few men left, mostly covering their escape, it was no doubt a waste of ammunition to continue firing the way they had been.

"You warned them we were coming. You _ruined_ our chances of winning tonight." He growled, drawing his sword.

I drew myself up and gripped the hilt of my own weapon. "I'm not sure what else you _expected_ me to do."

With an angry shout, he lunged towards me, viciously striking out. Blocking that first, heavy blow would have knocked me on my ass. I deflected it, sending him stumbling for just a second before he was staring at me once more with hatred in his eyes.

We exchanged blows for awhile, the soldiers from the fort watching the exchange, but not interfering. Just as well, I supposed. We didn't need a British soldier killing one of the first Patriot leaders - that'd just anger people and make my job harder.

We were both getting worn down - we'd both been busy with the battle throughout the night, and our skills were hindered from exhaustion. Swordfights required quite a bit of energy to begin with, anyway. I had to hand it to him, he was a damn good fighter. The only person who'd ever given me quite this much difficulty was Haytham.

He differed from Haytham though. Wayne was _fierce_ , striking out in any way he pleased. Haytham was cool, calculated. He made precise strikes and stabbed, rarely slashed or hacked like Wayne was happy to do.

We circled around each other. Yet again, he made the first move. His blade arced towards me, intending to slash across my abdomen, but I stepped out of the way, tripping him in the process.

He flipped over just in time to block my strike. In a flash, he'd disarmed me, thrown my blade to the side, and tugged me down. After a moment of struggle, my back hit the ground, and his hands gripped onto the hilt of his blade.

He raised his sword over his head, but froze when I plunged both of my hidden blades into his chest. He looked down, the sword in his hands dropping to the dirt, and let out a choked sob when I retracted the blades.

I pushed him off of me, panting. When I sat up, he was clutching at his chest. If he was still alive, then it was just a matter of time. A pang of sadness shot through me.

"Wayne, you should have listened to me." I said, pushing my hair back.

His expression torn between sad and angry. "Why? Why would you support them?"

I shook my head. "I want independence for the colonies. I don't want some senseless, bloody war."

He chuckled bitterly. "Britain would have squashed us under her heel with all the damned taxes, all forced on us without a single word from any of us. We would have been given nothing we didn't already have before we started this war, not even our dignity."

"You would have been left to _live_." I looked around at the corpses surrounding us. "All of this, all these men's lives, _your_ life, could have been spared if only you and your colleagues had chosen a different path."

He looked at me with that same sort of pity so many people did. "What is your name?"

I couldn't find it in me to not tell a dying man who I was. "Courtney Lynn."

"Courtney Lynn." He tested the name on his tongue. "Well, Miss Lynn, it would be wise of you to remember that nothing in this life is gained without sacrifice." His voice weakened with every word, though those words were just as heavy as he must have intended them to be.

I watched as the light in his eyes faded, and the shallow rising of his chest slowed, then stopped.

My heart was heavy as I grabbed my blade, and I walked back to the fort feeling a lot less victorious than I should have.


	32. Chapter 32: Arno, Dorian, and Normalcy

After the battle at Monmouth had concluded and I'd checked in with Pitcairn, Connor and I returned to the homestead to check on things there. On the way, he informed me that he'd had to put an end to Teague as well - the man had tried to go through with betraying the Patriots, but Connor offered little other information aside from that.

The three nights we spent on the road, tiny jokes and small-talk would be exchanged as our way of moving on from the disappointing outcome of the battle. Admittedly, it was hard to set aside my feelings for him when he made me feel so at peace after something so grim.

Still lingering around the homestead, occupying himself with reporting in to the French Brotherhood and training the Assassin recruits present at the mansion, was Dorian. We passed him on our way to the stables, instructing a handful of recruits on swordplay. His eyes bored into my back as I worked to unsaddle Antony, and I couldn't shake the feeling he thought I was up to something - not that it would be anything new.

My thoughts were confirmed while I was out hunting just days later. I'd drawn the string of my bow back, a deer in my sights. Just when my fingers were twitching, just about to release the string, when it started, having heard a noise I had not. With a snort, it bounded off, out of my range and out of my sight. I let out a frustrated growl and turned, now hearing the crashing of footsteps on foliage that had frightened my prey off.

A sheepish look was all Dorian offered me as he awkwardly fought to untangle himself from some thorny vines wrapped around his legs. I sighed and moved to help him.

When he inhaled deeply - the sort people do when they're about to speak - I started talking instead, glancing up at him every so often as my hands worked on the plants. "You know how you wouldn't stop bothering me about why I knew of you before we met? And how I said I _might_ tell you one day?"

He was caught off-guard, but nodded. "It is not something someone in my place easily forgets."

"Wanna know how I knew of you, and how I saved your life?" I asked casually, fiddling with the vines.

His gaze was suspicious, clearly debating whether I was being sincere or not. "Yes." He answered, finally.

My hands smoothed the front of my coat as I stood, having finished . I'd need to get someone to patch the hole in the arm before winter rolled around. I looked at Dorian and gave him a lazy smile. "I'm from the future."

After a moment of digesting what I said as I walked off, the man stormed after me, irritation dripping from his tone as he spoke. "I thought you were going to tell me the truth!"

"I did. Don't believe it? Ask Achilles or Connor, if it puts your mind at ease." My pace didn't slow, determined as I was to get to the manor and shoo the frustrating man away from me. If my hunt had to be ruined, then I could at least get to going through the many letters I was sent - probably all information, nothing on what to do with it.

"You must be joking with me." Dorian insisted.

"Maybe I am. But hey, I'm sure your fellow Assassins are going to give you a more trustworthy answer, right?" My snide comment made his face twist up bitterly.

Our bickering frightened away a couple recruits with how heated we were getting, the duo fleeing for the trees as we grew closer to the manor. Now we were outside the door of the mansion, and Dorian was about to add _even more_ fuel to the already raging fire, when a small, quiet voice to the side spoke up. "Papa?"

We both looked to the source, and there stood a young boy, gazing up at us with wide eyes. "Who is this?" He asked.

Dorian knelt down and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, saying something to him in French. The boy's eyes were wide in innocent, childish curiosity as he looked up at me and murmured something to Dorian in response. The man shooed him off, then stood back up, clearing his throat.

"Your son, right?" I asked quietly.

The both of us tossed a glance towards where the boy had run off - towards the stables to play with one of the horses. Dorian nodded. "My one and only. His name is-"

"Arno." I finished. With one step backwards, my hand was able to reach the door. "Take care of him, okay? He…" There was a pause as I considered my words. "He's capable of doing great things in the future."

Dorian's expression would have been difficult to decipher; I didn't stay long enough to even try.

Dorian did, in fact, question both Achilles _and_ Connor as to my little revelation. Even weeks later, when snow had started to fall, he would look at me with a reserved sort of curiosity. With how accustomed I was to this world now, it was easy to forget most believed time travel an impossibility.

Little Arno would catch my eye from time to time, running around the homestead and asking questions - often in French. A part of me was relieved that the boy hadn't been left alone in France, though another wondered why I'd thought Dorian would have done as much.

Arno was a bright boy, eager to learn, asking questions at every opportunity he got - his comebacks were _brilliant_ , even with his limited English. He reminded me of the nephews I'd left behind in the 21st century, and an odd, somewhat distant fondness for the kid started to develop. Dorian's eyes would follow me like a hawk's when I was around his son, ready to swoop in and start bickering with me at any moment. After a quick look at Arno, I'd swallow my pride and step down, hesitant to expose the child to violence of any sort - perhaps in vain, given the war raging on and his lineage.

Months passed, Connor managing the growing Brotherhood from the Homestead. Different members of the Order would call me out to assist in battles; more often than not it would end in me getting shot at by dozens of men armed with muskets, and killing some man in a fancy red or blue coat commanding them. A handful of times, things were solved with "minimal" violence, though those were far from common occurrences..

Man after man would demand to know _why_ I'd killed them, _why_ I supported the Patriots or the British, and time after time I would have to give them a painfully short, vague explanation and listen to their last words. It was like killing Wayne a hundred times over.

In the times I wasn't busy spilling blood, I'd act as the "representative" for the Templars at the homestead. Haytham and Connor would communicate through me, discussing different actions, the ongoing war, what to do about the other branches - a lot of bickering and reserved hostility.

The time Connor and I had together dwindled, and we valued what little time we did get alone - often short hunting trips or a few quiet minutes within the confines of the mansion were all we had to have a friendly conversation.

Ippolita and I continued exchanging letters, each growing more and more _emotional_ as opposed to simply flirtatious. Ippolita continued to urge me to visit her, suggesting we sit down for just a _day_ to have tea and to talk in person so she could hear my voice again. Admittedly, the idea was appealing. But, business constantly demanded my presence elsewhere. Each time I wrote back to her, I'd deliberate over my words, wanting to… _impress_ her, I suppose. Regardless, my stomach still did flips whenever I'd received a letter with my name scrawled in that familiar, loopy handwriting, and I looked forward to hearing from her again with each letter I'd send off.

After the chaotic start of the war, things were beginning to adopt a sense of rushed normalcy: I'd follow the orders I was given by my superiors in the Order, Connor would do what was needed for the Brotherhood - whether that be running missions or training recruits - and the homestead, the homesteaders went about their work, and we all tried our best not to step on each other's toes.

All in all, I wasn't entirely dissatisfied with my life.


	33. Chapter 33: Back in the Saddle

It was late May 1776. The weather was hot and humid, and rain fell every other day or so, making it unpleasant to do much at all outside. Newer recruits would complain about being forced to run through mud, or having to load pistols or muskets while it was pouring, or being trained in free-running in the forest - right after it'd rained. If I was nearby I'd snicker, making a comment about how I'd been forced to do most of my training in the _middle of winter_. The newer ones would roll their eyes, while the older ones would dignify me with a knowing chuckle.

It still felt odd, being the representative for the Templars. Even with the palpable tension that seemed to be ever-present when I'd enter a room with either Achilles or Dorian, the recruits didn't quite seem to understand the hostility that had been - and, in some ways, still was - present between the two orders. Dorian would still bring up the difficulties our strained peace presented to the other branches of the orders, warning us that his sluggish correspondence with the French Brotherhood had been less than overwhelmingly positive when it came to the truce. As if we needed a reminder of the obstacles that lay ahead.

Today was yet another day spent sifting through letters Haytham had directed to me. After all the excitement and travel of my first few years here, a desk job was taxing on my patience. It took an iron will to remind myself every day that handling information within the Order and communication between it and the Brotherhood was a necessary - if boring - task.

I cut open another envelope, unfolding and glancing over the document inside. More information on the war - a plan of the British to attack a Patriot camp. It went with the rest like it in a pile on the table. It seemed like war plans were all I got, aside from the occasional letter calling me off to battle. Who knew why it was Haytham was sending quite so many plans to me. Convenience, perhaps, with how many battles I was involved with.

I glanced out the window, looking at the recruits trudging after Dorian and wistfully remembering how easy training had been in comparison to the massive fights I'd get in these days. Things were simpler back then.

A rap on the door frame caught my attention. My heart beat a little faster when I turned to see Connor standing in the doorway, poised as if he wanted to enter but wasn't quite sure if I was busy or not.

Busy though I may have been, a small distraction would do me some good. I stood from the couch, stretching my arms above my head. Connor stepped into the room and around the table, sparing only a fleeting glance at the papers spread about the table.

"Don't you have some recruits to shout at or something?" I asked.

"Dorian is with them." His expression was impassive as he glanced over the papers littering the table. "You should be going through those."

"Well, I _was_ , but now I'm not." I said cheekily.

His head shook, a tiny smile on his face. "It seems I'll be needed in New York for some time. Would you happen to know of any business you might need to attend to?"

A smirk curled on my lips. "Looking for excuses to spend time with the great and mighty Courtney Lynn, I see." I looked at the papers. A memory of reading about a Templar traitor in New York made the gears in my head grind together, tinged with boredom though it may have been. Templar resources were already so stretched with the war, no one had been sent to properly investigate. My gaze settled back on Connor. "Lucky for you, I just so happen to have some business there,thank the powers that be."

After such a long, dull day, his quiet laugh was music to my ears. "I'd gathered you might be growing tired of paperwork."

I scoffed. "Me? The person who ran around and did, y'know, all the things I possibly could for a good couple of years? Nah, I just _love_ sitting on my ass all day."

His eyes rolled as he moved for the doorway. "If you intend to accompany me, you should be ready to leave the morning after tomorrow."

"Alright. See you, doll." My eyes followed him as he left. With a sigh, I slumped back down onto the couch. The promise of actual activity that might just not involve an entire battle going on in the background was a relief to me.

My hands reached over to the many letters, searching for the one regarding the traitor. Regardless of rank, betrayal wasn't something that was treated lightly in the Order.

There it was. My eyes flickered across the description written in fine handwriting on the paper. A woman by the name of Maria Irinka Ivanov. She'd been raised in Russia, then sent to America - in no small part due to her accomplishments in the rite there. A heavy axe was her favored arm, a pistol of Russian design and a dirk were reportedly kept nearly as close. Tall, strong, and intimidating, she'd been of great use to the Order for quite some time.

Unfortunately, she'd recently gone rogue - at least two fellow Templars had met their end by her blade, and it was rumored three more who were missing may have befell the same fate. She was dangerous, and needed to be taken care of before she caused any more trouble.

* * *

Two days later, Connor and I were on the road again. Half my bag must have been filled with letters, if the way the strap had dug into my shoulder was any indication. Connor wasn't aware of my reason for accompanying him - something had told me Haytham wouldn't appreciate me telling an Assassin of traitors in our midst, no matter how friendly we'd gotten to being. To be fair, he hadn't told me what he was doing either.

With all the tiny touches and less-than-innocent words we exchanged, my mind couldn't help but wonder it might be a good idea to actually confess to the way I felt - if only to get it off my chest. It wasn't as though we had to be together; I was merely growing tired of dealing with the emotions rattling around inside me.

Regardless of anything else, things were still quite comfortable around him. We provided each other with a certain amount of peace - something one was hard-pressed to find in the middle of a war. Sure, making small talk and holding each other at night (yet another thing that made it harder to conceal those annoying romantic feelings of mine) didn't solve all our problems, but it certainly let us forget them for a short time.

Things would be pretty lonely if we had to go our separate ways.


	34. Chapter 34: Seeking Ivanov

My stuff was left packed in my bag as I got an early start, wanting to waste no time in seeking out Miss Ivanov.

The tavern I ended up in had to have been the seediest, dimmest, most criminal cesspit in the entire city. The sign had been so worn down that one couldn't say the name of the establishment, but the way men twice my size were stumbling out of the door like they'd been hit with a very strong hallucinogen said the place had to have some strong alcohol.

Walking into the place, the thought that maybe it was the _scent_ of the place that had men practically falling out of it hit me. The entire place _reeked_ \- even by 18th century standards. It was a battle to keep myself from gagging, even after I'd taken a seat. Peering around at the patrons didn't ease the sickening feeling in my stomach. Many were absolutely shit-faced, for lack of a better term. When an exhausted serving girl stopped by the table I was at, she didn't ask a question about why I declined her offer for anything save a roll of bread. Normally, I'd be at least curious about the drinks, but right now I needed my head clear.

* * *

Hours passed, all the while my ears strained to listen in on conversations, trying to figure out what one slurred sentence was and whether half an utterance was gibberish or real information. My head was hurting, and it was getting hard to breathe in the stuffy, smelly, crowded building. By the time the sun had gone down, I'd heard nothing, and stumbled out of the tavern in a less than graceful manner. My first few breaths were heavy, struggling to replace the stale excuse of oxygen in my lungs with the fresher, - though admittedly a tad humid - outside air.

A sigh left me. One would think that after spending hour after hour in such a revolting place, I'd have heard _something_ or another about local murders.

I began the walk back to the inn Connor and I'd checked into. It wasn't horribly far, though running was out of the question for the moment after the absolutely _filthy_ tavern air. It'd been like breathing in stagnant swamp water. Disgusting.

It was a godsend that the nights weren't as bad as the days in April; the heat and moisture in the air seemed to go away with the sunlight, even if some still lingered a bit.

I climbed over a fence, taking to the back-alleys to avoid the well-lit streets and to reach the inn sooner. Ivanov didn't need to know I was here - not yet, anyway.

The return trip to the inn took less than half an hour thanks to my little shortcut through the alleys; it let me sink into a chair and dig into a meal in the much cleaner inn that much sooner. Connor hadn't returned from whatever he was doing, so I used the time to get settled in the room we were staying in.

By the time I ended up stretching out on the bed and closing my eyes, I'd gone through the letters I'd brought twice, done all the maintenance on my weapons that was needed, and spent a half hour drinking ale - mostly to pass the time. I'd walked back from a table in the lobby with the tiniest wobble in my step, then lazily undressed and fallen on the mattress.

* * *

The next morning I woke up crushed to Connor's chest; he must have returned at some point during the night. It took a few minutes to wriggle my way out of his arms without waking him up.

After I'd gotten dressed and had a quick breakfast, I left the inn again. Today I'd find a different tavern - one that wasn't quite so _awful_. The tavern I slipped into this time was less crowded, and also didn't smell like the back end of a mule.

I accepted the drink offered to me by a young serving girl, sipping on it sparingly for a while. The day passed uneventfully, people coming and going as they pleased. Merchants, soldiers, revolutionaries (more than the soldiers, to be sure), small business owners - anyone who wanted a drink for a short time. Shifty characters would come and go as well, some glancing at me before going back to their business then slipping out after a short time. All seemed wise enough not to approach the well-armed stranger sitting in the corner of the tavern.

* * *

Once again, I heard nothing of Ivanov. I took my leave of the inn during that short period of twilight between day and night. As I walked, I planned. If another day brought me no news, I'd take to the streets - if the woman was hunting Templars as it _seemed_ she was, it would be unwise to draw any attention to my contacts in the city.

I reached a back-alley. Fences made it difficult to see what lay in the spaces between the buildings, and I tread carefully. I wouldn't like being ambushed here.

A knocking to my left caught my attention. My head whipped so I could search for the source of the sound - something behind one of the fences. If it wasn't something inane - construction, someone knocking on a door, a woodpecker -, then it was a trap. It was a trick I was familiar with, one I'd used myself on multiple occasions.

I moved toward a wall, my eyes flicking around the enclosed space. If I could get on the rooftops, I could see who was there.

My hands clutched at different handholds as I climbed - I was picking my hand and foot holds mostly by feel as I surveyed the ground below.

The alleyway was empty, aside from a lone dog sniffing around the side of a building. As I pulled myself over the ledge of the building, I'd begun to think that I was getting paranoid - then I took a sharp hit to the face with something blunt, and suddenly all that was beneath me was open air.

I clawed for a hold on _something_ before I hit the ground with a sickening thud. Pain shot through my body at the impact, and I swore I heard something crack; my head had been the last to hit the dirt, and the force from the way it'd sharply knocked against the ground had black spots swimming before my eyes. The wind had been knocked from my lungs and I was just filling them back up when a figure landed in front of me, barely perceptible as black flooded my vision more and more. Tall, strongly built, and a large, intimidating axe in her hands.

Looks like I'd found Ivanov.


	35. Chapter 35: Gallows

My awakening was less than pleasant, to say the very _least_. My muscles ached from being unconscious in the chair I was currently sat in, my wrists hurt from the too-tight rope tied around them. I couldn't move my legs - tied too, then. The only thing I couldn't complain much about was the darkness - my head was pounding already, and bright light would surely worsen it.

I thought back to the moments before I'd been knocked out. Ivanov had predicted my every move in that brief situation, and I felt a twinge of respect for her, if not an overwhelming amount of anger at having been tricked.

My weapons were gone, missing from their holsters and sheaths. The dim room was empty save for me, the chair, and an uncomfortable looking cot. Stone walls were to my left, right, and front, and I was unable to twist my stiff neck around enough to see what was behind me. _This just keeps getting better and better_ , I thought.

For some time, I sat in silence. My stomach growled, and I dully wondered how long I'd been out for. Time ticked by, unmarked by anything. Even the sounds didn't change - the dripping of water, the faint blowing of wind, rats scurrying around. It was exhausting just to be there.

Finally, a new sound caught my attention: footsteps. They were getting closer.

It took more restraint than I'd like to admit to keep myself from flinching at the loud clanging of metal - bars, perhaps?

The footsteps came around my right side, and I finally got a half-decent look at Miss Ivanov.

She was indeed tall, and even beneath the fur-lined coat she wore, one could tell her build was bulky. Sharp cheekbones, light hair (the darkness made it difficult to make out color or other such details), a round nose. Her expression was serious, not a hint of humor to be found. The outline of her axe handle on her back was visible over her shoulder, and I had no doubts her rumored pistol and dagger were on her person as well.

She took some steps toward me, silent. She stopped just short of the distance I might have been able to kick her at - had my legs not been tied to those of the chair.

We stayed like that for a few tense seconds, sizing each other up. Finally, I spoke, tired of the quiet. "Ivanov, correct?"

She nodded. "Courtney Lynn, the Grandmaster's little apprentice."

My eyes narrowed. "I don't believe we've met before."

She snorted flatly. "You've built up a reputation among the colonial rite. Between your place as Kenway's apprentice, all your work as a courier, and the… _daring_ way you've been assisting in battles, quite a few within the Templar ranks know your name."

"Well, now that that question is answered, care to explain why you defected? Why you hunted down people who were once your allies?" Poison laced my tone.

She smirked sardonically, not a hint of pity in her eyes. "I thought it would be obvious." She leaned in closer, and I resisted the urge to lean back and put more distance between us. "This talk of 'peace' between Templars and Assassins."

My brow furrowed. "What?"

She stepped back again. "It's nonsense, and it'll lead to the ruin of everything we stand for. Order, justice, stability - _none_ of which can be protected if we have to compromise with those chaotic, short-minded fools we've been fighting for centuries."

I sneered. "You've got to be _kidding_ me. Are you really so ignorant that you think war is a better alternative than cooperation?"

"Our goals are different, peace is unattainable. Them? They kill us because they wish to see no one - a Templar most of all - in power, no one to protect those you see wandering on the streets. They don't understand the way the world works, the way _people_ work, and wish to change the very fundamentals of both. Templars - _real_ Templars - seek only to manipulate it to bring safety to those under our charge." She spoke like I was an ignorant child.

"Please, do tell, what is a _real_ Templar?" I ground out.

Her lip curled up in the beginnings of a sneer. "Most certainly not you."

I was about to argue again, but she cut me short by walking behind me, out of my sight again. "Goodbye, Lynn. Do not attempt to escape."

 _Sure_ , I thought bitterly. _I'll do everything you ask, because clearly tying me up and shutting me away in a cell is the way to ensure that._

* * *

I shifted uncomfortably for what must have been the fiftieth time that hour. The rope dug uncomfortably into the skin of my wrists, placed just above the hem of my gloves, and just below my sleeve. My ass was sore from being stuck on the wooden chair for so long. On the brighter side of things, a skittish boy had been sent to give me water and feed me some measly meals that tasted like dirt throughout the past few days. He wasn't much good for conversation, but it could be worse.

Escape hadn't been a possibility. I'd struggled, tipped over my chair, tried squeezing my hands out of the rope that held them tightly together (the raw pain each time they moved told me it had done little in the way of helping me). Nothing had worked, and in the empty room, I had nothing to use. The boy was so frightened of me - or, more likely, of retribution from Ivanov - that I'd figured asking him would be as useless as everything else.

Now, footsteps approached the cell I was in once again - but it sounded like multiple people. More metallic clanging - the door to my cell. Someone freed my legs, and another two lifted me up, off the chair. Masculine grunts told me that if Ivanov was around, she was not one of the people freeing me.

Two of the men grabbed my arms, and roughly forced me towards the door. The three men - Patriot soldiers, the torchlight told me - led me down the halls lit by tiny wall-mounted torches.

The sound of people - dozens, all shouting and screaming - grew louder as we walked, and only increased in volume when one of the men pried open a wooden door.

The light of the early morning hurt my eyes when the door opened, and the yelling of so many people didn't help to stave off a coming headache. When I was able to blearily look up, numbing shock filled my body.

People, everywhere, looking right at me. Militiamen were everywhere, and… was that Washington? Yes, yes it was. Artemas Ward and Charles Lee stood on either side of him, the latter's face giving away nothing. Ivanov was moving through the crowd as the men holding my arms pushed me onward. She gave me a cold smile before I was jolted forward by yet another ungentle shove.

I looked ahead of me and my blood ran cold. Gallows. _Holy shit. Holy_ shit. _I'm going to be executed_.

I looked around frantically, trying to get a look at Charles, to see if he'd do anything, to glean any _hint_ that I wasn't going to be killed today. Before I knew it, I was tripping up wooden steps.

I caught a glimpse of Charles leaning closer to Washington, lips moving, just before a sack was dropped over my head and a noose fastened around my neck. My heart was beating so loudly, I almost didn't hear the man on the gallows with me begin to call out the charges against me.

"And for the murder of the following men, all of whom were proud Patriots, and all of whom would have proudly given their lives for their country had they not been cut short by this Loyalist wench, this woman, at the word of our highest generals, will be hanged." He called out. He began to list names, and with how long it was taking, I knew he wasn't just listing off my targets, but also the men who'd simply gotten caught in the crossfire.

I was managing not to shake. I wondered vaguely if anyone I knew was in the crowd - Tommy, maybe, as he was usually hanging around the cities anyway. Ippolita live din New York. She couldn't possibly be here today, could she? The last thing I wanted her to see was me dangling from a rope.

I wouldn't be able to pick them out with the sack on my head if they _were_ present, nor would I be able to hear them over the crowd. What about Connor? He would have noticed I hadn't returned given the _days_ that had went by, but would he have heard I was to be executed?

Gods, let Charles have a plan.


	36. Chapter 36: Saved

The man finished calling out the names of the men I'd killed after quite some time - not all, I thought, but more than enough for the crowd to cheer at the thought of my death. I swallowed hard, hearing him move about on the gallows. This wouldn't be fun.

A tense moment passed, then I felt the wood disappear beneath my feet. I gagged at the feel of rope digging into my throat like a vice, not quite hard enough to snap my neck like it was supposed to, and twisted as violently as I could, my hands still bound behind my back.

This couldn't be how it ended. After everything I'd done, everything I'd accomplished, and everything I could accomplish, I was not going to die here, gasping for air like a fucking fish.

After what had to be minutes of me twisting in the air, I heard a gunshot, and in a heartbeat I hit the ground heavily. I writhed and coughed, trying to fill my lungs and desperately fighting against the rope around my wrists.

Hands grabbed me, and a blade cut off the rope, while someone else pulled the sack off my head. Tommy, Ippolita, and a man with glasses - was that Jack Weeks? - were crowding around me, urging me to get up. Ippolita and the man with her had my weapons, and I reached for them. "Ivanov is here-" I coughed harshly, hoping she hadn't gotten away yet. "We have to get rid of her."

Tommy cast a glance at the other two, then motioned for them to give me my weapons. They reluctantly did so. I put them back in their holsters and sheathes, and strapped the hidden blades on. Tommy assisted with the latter, and I mumbled a word of thanks.

Tommy put a hand on my shoulder, an uncharacteristic look of worry on his face. "You sure you can handle yourself, girlie?"

My hand rubbed at my throat as I nodded. I'd been in chokeholds before. This had been more painful by far, but I was certain I would be fine - and, admittedly, had an urge to snap Ivanov's neck for trying to have me killed.

Tommy relaxed again, clapping me on the shoulder and chuckling. "Good luck, then. Try not to almost die again - boss'd have my head if something happened to you."

Ippolita grabbed my arm, looking at me with concern. "Be careful, I do not wish to see you die."

I nodded to her, patting her hand, and peeked out at the crowd. It took a second to find Ivanov, but there she was - pushing her way through the mass of people, struggling to escape.

I unholstered my pistol as I ran for her. People around me were panicking, unsure what to do or which shouting soldier to listen to. My feet slowed, and I took aim. Ivanov spotted me just as I pulled the trigger, and she sank to her knees, clutching at her side.

Her hands scrabbled at the axe on her back, just managing to get it in her hands before I reached her. My hands went for the handle, clutching at it and trying to wrestle it from her grasp. People jumped away from us as we pushed and shoved.

With a final heave and an aggressive growl, she managed to make me lose my grip. I stumbled away, taking in ragged breaths as I reached for my sword.

She swung at me, grunting with the effort, and I ducked just in time for the blade to miss me.

I managed to unsheath my sword while she steadied herself. She turned to me again, and swung at me with an angry shout at the same time I lunged at her. She aimed high, I aimed low.

Her blade left a gash in my arm, one that caused pain to sear through the limb. But my blade connected with her achilles tendon, and she howled as she stumbled, catching herself with the head of her axe. She snarled at me as she tried to right herself, unable to stand with that tiny, crucial little puzzle piece severed.

She let go of the axe reached for her pistol, grabbing at it with unsteady hands. I reached her, moving despite the burning pain, and plunged my sword into her left shoulder. Her fingers dug into my arms, knuckles white, her face contorted in what could only be described as the most hellish, intense rage I'd ever been subject to in my life.

"You- Because of you, everything we've ever worked for will go to waste!" She spat in my face. She gasped quietly as I pulled back on my sword, and it came out of her with a gross wet noise. I used one foot to kick her back, and she had the nerve to laugh at me. "But, then again, I'm not the only one who disagrees with this foolish, naive plan of yours, who wants to see you and that damned fool Kenway dead. You'll get what's coming to you for running this rite into the ground, both of you will."

I hadn't a doubt in my mind that she would have rambled on for even longer, but she shut up with a hiss when I placed a foot right on the bullet wound in her side and cruelly pressed down, slowly twisting my foot from side to side. I glared down at her. "Anyone who wants to kill Kenway has to go through me first. And I can promise you, they'll all end up just like you."

She sneered at me, the expression not quite as powerful as it could be, given the way her breathing was faltering and her pallor was only turning paler. "You're an ignorant child, and if you have to learn your lesson by starting a war in your efforts to end another, then so be it."

She sat there, spitting out insults and threats, for seconds longer, then she fell silent. The crowd was leaving by the time she was still, a frenzied rush of people trying to get away from a murder. Charles' shouts were just managing to keep the guards at bay, insisting they focus on directing the terrified civilians as opposed to coming after me. Ward and Washington looked ready to step in at any second, however. Tommy motioned for me to follow him and the other two, and with how exhausted and pained I was, I did as he wanted.

As I was led away, I learned the man in glasses was indeed Jack Weeks. Weeks… well, I didn't get much out of him on the walk to Ippolita's fancy manor, nor while the doctor there patched up the nasty gash on my arm (the adrenaline in my veins had faded, and now the pain was much more severe, even with the ointment the doctor'd slathered on). Weeks was charismatic enough to ever so politely deflect each of my questions. I could respect that, even if it frustrated me.

Ippolita'd placed a gentle hand on my uninjured arm once the doctor had finished up and excused the two of us, leading me away. She brought me to a finely decorated room, and the large, soft-looking bed was the first thing to catch my eye.

Ippolita led me over to it, sitting the both of us down on its edge. "It is good to see you again, even if the circumstances are less than favorable."

I smiled tiredly. "I can think of worse places to be than a lavish room with a pretty woman sitting next to me."

She covered her mouth as she giggled. "Do not waste your energy flattering me. You need to get some rest."

I was about to respond when Tommy, in all his drunken grace, sauntered into the room. He looked at Ippolita and nodded at the door. She left with a quiet goodbye, and Tommy grinned at me. "Quite a predicament you got yourself into, eh?"

"Hey, I'm alive, and I've three fellow Templars here to protect me. All considered, this went a lot better than expected." As soon as I finished talking, a yawn forced its way out of my mouth.

"Right, well, you feel up to walking around, you can find me at the nearest tavern." He said before he left. I'd been all too happy to strip off my clothes - grimacing a bit at the damage done to the nice coat I'd grown attached to - and drop to the cot with a sigh.

Before I drifted off, my mind wandered to thoughts of where Connor was, then decided to figure it out the next day.


	37. Chapter 37: Plotting

My muscles were sore when I woke, but nonetheless better than they had been prior to getting to sleep. It took a few minutes to force myself out of bed, minding the wound on my left arm.

I examined the appendage once I'd sat up. The doctor had taken care of it, though he'd been unable to do too much for the pain. While it was no longer causing the searing, near-unbearable pain it had turned to when the adrenaline had worn off yesterday, it was more than a little distracting. On the bright side, at least it hadn't been my right arm. Else, Ivanov would have likely won yesterday; I could _punch_ well with my left arm, I couldn't wield a _sword_ terribly well with it.

I looked around the room. The dresser in particular caught my attention. My eyes trailed to the shirt and pants I wore and the coat and waist coat lying on the floor, the left sides of all of them were covered in dried blood. Yeah, those stains wouldn't be coming out easily - not to mention the huge rips in both my shirt and my coat.

I stood and took a second to shake off a wave of dizziness. Blood loss, as it turned out, could make one very lightheaded. Once relatively steady, I crossed the room to the dresser. My hands rummaged through the drawers, holding up shirts and the like to see if they were reasonably close to my size. The brown and yellow clothes I'd gotten so used to would be missed.

I managed to find a clean off-white shirt a size or two too big, a dark grey pair of pants roughly in my size, and a dull green waistcoat. No coat, however. At least the weather was warm. Sure, not wearing a coat was considered "odd," but Iit was unlikely I'd attract any more glances than I already did, parading around in pants and shirts and the like.

I found my way out of the room after I'd gotten dressed. It had to be late afternoon, by the sunlight shining through the windows. My hand fished my watch out of my pocket and it opened with a _click_. 6:49. It was pressed closed and shoved back into my pocket once more.

I had to find Tommy, figure out what was going on now. Then, I could get back to the inn and back to normal. Or, semi-normal.

An uneasy feeling settled in me as I walked through the halls. Ivanov had said there were more people who disagreed with the work I and Haytham had been working at for the past couple of years now. Was she trying to scare us, or were there really traitors in our midst? Then again, I supposed with her absolute _conviction_ to the idea I wasn't _really_ a Templar, "traitorous" might be a tad subjective. And why hadn't I heard about anyone else?

"Courtney?" Came a voice to my left. I turned to see Ippolita hurrying towards me. Her dark hair was down, and a bright - though worried - smile was on her face. "How do you feel?"

I shrugged. "About as good as I can feel after taking an axe to the arm, I guess."

Her smile faltered, and she walked around me to take hold of my other arm, guiding me through the halls. "Then I would suggest we hurry to talk to the others, _ma chèr._ "

Within moments, we'd left the building, and were on the streets of New York once more. Quick looks to my right and left told me people were either hurrying home or taking their time to get to taverns - it was as though my near-execution had never even happened. My head was pointedly staring downward as we walked towards what appeared to be a tavern, though. The last thing we needed was someone recognizing me and calling the Patriots on us.

A man held the door open for us, flashing a friendly, if flirtatious smile. We both returned the expression, and thanked him as we slipped into the alcohol-scented building. We were in there for all of five seconds before Tommy's loud, distinctive laugh caught my attention. Over near the wall to my left, he was guffawing at something Weeks had said. I walked over, tugging Ippolita with me, to them, and was greeted warmly - if rudely - by my old drinking buddy.

"Well, well, look who decided to join us. Enjoy your nap, girlie?" Tommy slurred, motioning to the only empty chair at the table.

I took a seat. "As a matter of fact, I did. So kind of you to ask, Tommy."

"Then surely, since I'm so nice, you wouldn't mind paying up for my assistance now, right?" He had a shit-eating grin on his face. When my only response was a confused glance, he rolled his eyes. "''You're buying the next three rounds' ring a bell?"

I let out an 'ah' and chuckled. "Right. Well, I'm going to assume it wasn't my money that paid for that doctor, so sure. Next three rounds are on me."

A smile had settled on Weeks' face at our antics, sticking around when he spoke. "So this is the 'Prophet' I've heard so much about, finally fully awake. I introduced myself yesterday, but you were a little… preoccupied, with your wounds and exhaustion and whatnot. I'm Jack Weeks, and I'm thrilled to meet you, Miss Lynn."

"I know a bit about you, too, Master Weeks. I only wish you weren't quite so tight-lipped about yourself. You seem like an interesting man." I responded, happy to have people to talk to.

"I certainly am, but I think you have more important things to focus on." There he went, changing the subject. Not a soul would get a word out of this man if he didn't want them to hear it - myself included.

I supposed we should get to the more important matters. "Ivanov mentioned that there's been some disagreements in the Order." I said, my voice lowered. Who knew who was listening in.

Weeks sighed. "Yes. A number of our own have voiced their _passionate_ opinions as to cooperating with the Brotherhood. Some have gotten violent about it - like Ivanov."

My brow furrowed. "I've been going through correspondence from multiple members of the Order for months now. Why am I only hearing about this now?"

My three companions shared a look. Ippolita was the first to speak. "You mean… you had not heard?"

"Heard what? Of a division among our ranks?" I sat back in my seat, dumbstruck and frustrated at once. How the _hell_ had something like this just… slipped by me? Had Haytham been hiding this from me?

Weeks cleared his throat. "Whatever the case, there is a definite rift among the rite. Some have been trying to contact other branches - all stopped by those who remain loyal to the Grandmaster, luckily."

My head shook. "It's only a matter of time before they get through. Besides, who's to say who we can trust right now?"

A hum came from Weeks. "I'd worked alongside Ivanov before. She was a valuable asset to us, and fiercely loyal to our cause. It's a shame events happened to turn her against us."

Silence fell over us for a moment. Tommy waved over a serving girl, leering at her as he was wont to do, and requested we all be given a round of ale - I was paying, of course.

Once our mugs were set in front of us, I had a thought. "We need to contact the other branches."

Weeks and Ippolita looked at me oddly. Tommy waved at them to reassure them. "She's got an idea, let her talk for a little while and I'm sure we'll _all_ understand."

My eyes rolled at the remark before I started speaking again. "If they're trying to convince the other branches to help them, all we have to do is make sure is they won't be able to get that help, right? What better way than to sway the other branches to our side?" I paused. "I doubt they'll help us just because we ask them in a letter, but maybe if we sent people to try and persuade them, or to simply request they stay out of colonial matters…"

"If we could convince the larger branches to side with us or remain neutral, word might spread to the smaller branches as well." Ippolita murmured.

"It would take quite a bit of coordination. We're spread thin as is, and there's the issue of the other branches of the Brotherhood. Just because those of us- _some_ of us in the colonies are cooperating with the Assassins, does not mean the other branches will want to follow our lead." Weeks warned.

My thoughts led me to Dorian. While we still weren't anything close to friends and we merely tolerated each other, perhaps he'd help us in some small way. He'd been itching to get back to France, in any case, and this would hopefully be as good a reason as any. I glanced at Ippolita. She spoke French, and she'd been there before - not recently, but certainly more than I had. Perhaps the two of them could be sent to try and speak to the French branches.

"I have an idea. I know a French Assassin. Maybe I can convince him to accompany one of our own to France and try to convince both orders there to at least stay out of our business." I offered.

Ippolita's lips pursed. "It is not as though I do much around here right now. I might be able to go - provided, of course, the Grandmaster agrees to it first."

"The last I heard of him, he was at his manor. It's become a bit of a hub of information for us since the start of the war with it's location and all, and he's been at the center of managing it all." Weeks said.

"Well, I guess I know what I'm doing now. Thank you all." I stood, wincing when pain shot up my arm when I pushed my chair in. Ippolita exchanged a worried glance with Weeks, then the latter stood.

"How about I accompany you to where you're staying? I doubt you want to get caught by the guards with a wound like that." His voice was low.

I wanted to decline, but I knew I wouldn't fare very well in a fight at the moment. With a nod from me, I and Weeks started towards the door.

Ippolita's voice halted me for a moment. "Be careful, Courtney. I would like for the next time we meet to be under more favorable circumstances."

I tossed a smile her way. "I'll be fine. And hey, maybe our next meeting will have me bringing news that you'll get to travel for once."

"Hey!" Tommy shouted when I almost turned.

My eyebrow rose in question at his outburst. "You still have two rounds to pay for, girlie."

I rolled my eyes and dug in my pants pocket, placing what I hoped was enough money for the alcohol in his outstretched hand.

Both Tommy and Ippolita had grins on their faces as I turned to follow Weeks.


	38. Chapter 38: Feelings and Bandages

I led Weeks through the streets of New York, stopping by Ippolita's home to grab my things from my ruined coat - mostly papers and money - and throw them in a small bag. We were forced to backtrack more than once on our way to he inn - I wasn't quite as familiar with this city as I was with Boston. The sun still loomed high in the sky by the time we reached the inn Connor and I had stayed at. It crossed my mind that Connor might not be here, as I'd been locked up by Ivanov for a good few days before my attempted execution. There was only one way to find out.

Weeks gently grabbed my wrist when my hand reached for the door handle. "Be careful. A lot of people know who you are, and I can promise you that more than a couple want you and Haytham dead."

I nodded. "Thank you, Weeks. I appreciate all this - getting me patched up and not, y'know, letting me be hanged." A wry smile .

He returned the smile, nodding and patting me on the back. "Take care of yourself, Lynn. And take care of Haytham, too, if the need arises."

With that, the secretive man walked off into the crowds of New York, leaving me to enter the inn.

The innkeeper informed me that the room Connor and I had checked into was still very much in use. A peek into the tiny space we'd been sharing only confirmed it - our bags were still there, and there was the faintest scent of gunpowder and metal. He must have been cleaning his weapons a lot at night, which meant they must have been used a lot in the past few days.

Gingerly, I lowered myself onto the bed. Surely he'd heard something of the botched execution and subsequent murder. High profile murders were a popular point of gossip, if past experience had taught me anything. Hopefully he'd get back soon; my arm still throbbed in pain, and I wasn't all that comfortable letting my guard down when I was alone - _especially_ not when any number of my associates might try to slit my throat.

I reached for my bag - with my injured arm, I realized too late. A pained grunt left me when I dragged it closer. Yeah, this would take some getting used to. My hands fumbled around inside the pack, removing a clean roll of bandage. It was always wise to keep some medical supplies on hand in my work.

I carefully rolled my billowy sleeve up my arm enough to examine the area covered by white gauze. Spots of red were starting to show through, a few looking closer to brown. The wound had to have reopened in some way earlier and in my sleep, and probably again just now from reaching for my bag. Looks like the bandage would have to be changed.

My hand ran gently across the edges of the bandage on my arm, looking for where it was fastened or tucked or tied. When I found where the free end was securely tucked into the side, I tugged on it. Once it was free, I unwound the bandage, hissing when I got down to the last layer and it stuck to the dried blood. Bolts of pain shot through me as my fingers worked at the parts of the bandage that stuck, and a particularly loud string of curses left me when the cloth finally tore off, taking bits of scab along with it.

Blood welled up in the recently opened areas, and was dabbed away with the used bandage as quickly as it came. I reached into my bag again, grabbing a bottle of alcohol. I wet a cleaner portion of the used bandage with it, and took a breath.

And _by God_ did it sting when it touched the open parts of the cut. I groaned lowly, letting out a string of swear words. My hand was shaking, forcing me to stop for a moment. It wouldn't do any good to try to clean it with unsteady hands.

Just as I prepared myself to try again, the door creaked open. My head whipped up at the sound of my name.

Connor stood there, eyes wide beneath his hood. He quickly shut the door and moved to me, crouching to look at my injury.

"What happened? Where were you?" His hand took the alcohol-covered bandage from mine.

"The task I came here to take care of took a complicated turn. I, ah, I was almost hanged." I explained.

He glanced up at me, then sighed irritably before he went to cleaning my wound. "That does not explain the wound."

The hiss that I made had Connor glancing up at me. It was all I could do to speak through clenched teeth. "I got into a fight. My opponent had an axe."

His head shook, though he seemed satisfied enough with the answer. "Why were you almost executed?"

I took a deep, shaky breath - the wound stung badly from the alcohol. "My opponent had a bit of political sway, I suppose. She was targeting Templars," I paused, considering my words as carefully as I could when the urge to swear like a sailor was greater than ever. "I just so happened to be one."

His lips formed a tight line. "How did she know you were a Templar? And why does she wish to see those in your order dead?"

As much as I would have liked to, I couldn't tell him the truth. He was an Assassin, and this was a Templar problem. I could at least be honest about _that_ , I supposed.

"I'm afraid I need to keep it between myself and others in my Order. At least until I have Haytham's word that I can share it with you." I said apologetically.

Finished with cleaning the wound, he grabbed the fresh roll of bandages setting aside the dirty ones. "Are you in danger because of what is happening?"

I chuckled, the sound cut off with a wince at the feel of the bandage touching my wound. "We're always in danger. But yes, there are some people who want me dead."

He didn't look up from his work as he spoke again, quieter this time. "I do not want anything to happen to you."

My expression softened. "I know. I don't want anything to happen to you either, but this is what life is like for us."

He secured the bandage and rose up. "I'm aware. Just know that I'm here for you."

A smile, strained though it may have been from pain, stretched my lips as I stood up as well. "Long as you know that I've got your back, too."

He enveloped me in his arms, careful not to . Mine wrapped around him in return. We remained like that for a few moments, savoring the rare moment of closeness.

He pulled away. "I finished what business I had here yesterday. Today I was looking for you."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Sorry I made you worry." I looked back to his eyes. "I suppose we should go our separate ways for a while, then. I have to head to Virginia." I said.

His brow furrowed. _Wonderful_ , he was going to be stubborn about this. "So soon?"

"Hayth needs to hear about what's going on, and then we'll decide what to do about it." I told him.

His lips twisted into a frown. "Are you certain traveling alone is a wise idea when you are injured?"

I sighed, sitting back down. "Con, I need to go there. Don't worry about me so much."

"You were almost executed and now you are injured. I have _ample_ reason to worry." He said wryly.

"Haytham needs to hear what I have to say, and you have a Brotherhood to manage." I argued.

"Achilles can handle it, just as he has before." One of his hands reached up to stroke my hair, and I didn't respond thanks to the lump that seemed to form in my throat from the action. He continued to talk in response to my silence. "If you get attacked on the way there, you may be unable to defend yourself with your injury. Who would take over your duties then?"

My eyes rolled and I reached to lightly slap his hand away ignoring the heat in my cheeks. "I'll hire a mercenary - I'll be _fine_."

His eyebrows rose, marking how unimpressed he was with my idea. "Because a man whose loyalty belongs to coin can always be trusted." He slid onto the bed next to me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "So you'd propose I let you waste over half a month of your time and escort me over there and back to the homestead, rather than let you get back to the Assassins now?"

"Yes." He said simply.

"Con." I groaned as he wrapped an arm around me. " _Connor_."

"Please?" He asked quietly. And damn it all, he was looking at me with those big brown eyes, just _pleading_ with me like a sad puppy.

I let out a breath. " _Fine_ , you stubborn old goof." I muttered.

He smiled. "Thank you."

I turned, snuggling into him while minding the tender area of my arm. As we sat there cuddling (friends cuddled, right?), I ignored the fluttering of my heart in my chest. Seeing Ippolita, sweet as she was, had me confused about my feelings for both her and Connor.

Over the past year of writing to her, the letters she and I exchanged had been peppered with more and more words of what couldn't just be brushed off as simple desire, the two of us growing more emotionally attached than we had been. Certainly, I considered her attractive, but her sweetness had me appreciating more than just her appearance.

That said, I felt no less for Connor. He'd certainly been around me longer than Ippolita, and whatever it was that was going on between us, it was most definitely not entirely platonic anymore. My mind worked to remember at what point things had turned from playful teasing to something a bit _more_. Maybe it was before we began sharing a bed - maybe it was after. I couldn't remember at this point, and it hardly mattered at any rate.

Choosing to pursue either of them would be a bad idea; Connor was an Assassin, and this era's attitudes towards two women in a romantic relationship were less than tolerant, to say the very _least_. Either way, I'd have to sneak around with the person I cared for.

Damn this entire situation.


	39. Chapter 39: Kenway Manor

We left New York and made for Haytham's manor. It took us ten damned days - most of it spent baking in the hot sun. Antony would invariably be covered in sweat by the time the sun went down, and would intermittently make low sounds I could only interpret as complaints about the hot weather.

Connor insisted on doing all the hunting while we were on the road in light of my injury; which left me to sit around and do little other than care for the horses and weapons, and simply waste time thinking too hard about recent events. He denied it every night, but he let his turns keeping watch run a little longer than usual, stubborn as he was. At least my wound only needed bandages for the first day we were on the road. Else, we'd have had to take even longer to make detours to find some kindly doctor selling clean bandages.

I was relieved for both of us when I spotted the familiar figure of Haytham's manor in the distance. We pushed our horses to all but sprint most of the last half mile there, eager to get out of the brunt of the heat.

The stable boy, as usual, took our horses. His hands reached for our bags, but stopped at my insistence that he let us take them instead. With that, I led Connor inside the mansion.

Connor's eyes drifted around, taking in the ornate decorations and well-kept… everything. I tugged him along by the arm, leading him to my room. There wasn't any way in hell would I be hauling my bag around with a bad arm inside my own _home_ with an injured arm when I had a room to myself.

My door was left ajar behind me, my pack flung haphazardly onto my bed from across the room. Then, I turned and made for the dresser.

As I dug through the drawers, looking for a clean outfit, Connor poked around my room.

After deciding on an outfit, I turned to see him examining the various swords, daggers, and pistols I had on display on the walls and a table. Other than those, I'd begun to keep a small collection of books in a bookshelf near my desk during my first few months in the house, preferring to keep them close rather than venture to the study any time I wanted to read. A couple chests filled with miscellaneous items were the only other additions I'd brought to the room.

I set the clothes on my bed and crept up behind him, peering around his shoulder. "Like my collection?"

He glanced at me. "You certainly have an affinity for short swords."

I shrugged. "When you're shorter than most folks, average swords tend to be rather unwieldy." My door, still wide open, caught my eye. "You should stick around here for a moment, I need to go find dad-" I paused. "Haytham." I corrected. "I need to go find Haytham. Ignore what I called him before."

A quirked eyebrow was all the response Connor offered as I left the room.

If Haytham's habits were anything like they'd been a few years ago, he'd likely either be in his room or the study. I doubted he'd be wasting time wandering about his home or garden with how busy he was these days. The man worked himself too hard - but then, so did I at times.

Just as I'd predicted, he was sifting through papers in the study at the large desk. The scratching of a quill on paper and the quiet ticking of a tall grandfather clock were the only sounds to fill the room. It seemed he'd done at least a tiny bit of renovating since the last time I was here; the clock was new.

My knuckles rapped on the open door, and my mentor dignified me with a quick glance.

Immediately after, his eyes were directed right back at the paper he was writing on. "You didn't send word that you'd be coming."

"Yes, well, after a little excursion to New York, I thought we might need to have a chat." I closed the doors and approached the desk, stopping when I was just inches away from the finely polished wood. "Maria Irinka Ivanov tried to have me killed. She's dead now."

Alarm glinted in his eyes when he looked up at me. "How did you hear about Ivanov?"

"A letter I was sent." My eyes narrowed in thinly veiled suspicion. "Why are you so concerned about _how_ I knew?"  
The quill dropped lightly to the tabletop as he ran a hand down his face with a long sigh. When he focused on me again, a frown was on his tired face. "I'd been trying to keep you out of the rift among the Order." I opened my mouth to say something, but he continued. "I knew you'd want to get involved, but you have your own responsibilities in serving as a link between us and the Brotherhood and in turning the tides of battles in this revolution. I couldn't risk your attention being divided. It seems I sent you a letter that I shouldn't have."

My fists clenched at my sides. "I should have been told, Haytham. You had to have known this wasn't something that you could keep me in the dark about for long."

"I'm aware, Courtney." He said sharply. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again, softer - about as close to apologetic as he was likely to get. "What happened in New York?"

"I went to investigate Ivanov. She managed to kidnap me, and arranged to have me executed. Tommy, Jack Weeks, and Ippolita Abel made sure my hanging was unsuccessful, and I killed Ivanov while the crowd panicked. Lee kept the soldiers off of me while I did so." I explained.

His eyes had shut, his mind consumed deep in thought as I'd spoken. "I see. Anything else?"

"Axes hurt like hell." The words were as dry as a bone. He raised an eyebrow, and I gave him a tiny smile. "I'm fine - just took a blow to the arm. I'm more concerned about what you plan to do about the other dissenters."

He shook his head tiredly. "The most we've been able to do is try to keep them from contacting the other branches. We don't have the people to spare to do much else, less so now that I know not all can be trusted."

"Why don't we send someone to speak to the other rites?" I suggested.

His head shook again. "Between the war and this division in our ranks, we don't have the people."

"What about Ippolita Abel?" My hands toyed with the hem of my waistcoat.

"Ippolita…?" His stare was filled with confusion. "What about her?"

"She helped me out after the incident with Ivanov, so we can assume it's safe to trust her. She speaks French, she's charismatic, and she herself told me that she's not doing much in New York. She's _ideal_ for the job, if only as a start - plus, she could use the opportunity to work her way up our ranks, right?" Gods willing, the logic would convince him to at least compromise on the issue in some way.

He thought for a moment, then looked up. "And what of the Brotherhood? Who would speak to them?"

I glanced away. Dorian, perhaps, seeing as we were at least able to tolerate each other these days. In any case, he was the only _real_ option I had. "I can think of someone, though he might require a little convincing."

"Then see to it." Haytham's voice carried the same authoritative tone it so often did when he spoke to other Templars. "I won't send someone to tell the French Order to stay out of our affairs if the French Brotherhood won't do the same."

"Very well." I cleared my throat. "Do we have a free room? Connor insisted on accompanying me here, so…"

He rose an eyebrow. "He 'insisted?'"

My reply as natural as it could have been. "My injury. He was worried I might be attacked on the way here, and claimed that a mercenary wouldn't be trustworthy."

His lips pursed, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "Does he not have responsibilities to tend to elsewhere?"

"He said Achilles and the other Assassins could handle them." I responded. It was difficult to restrain myself from squirming under Haytham's heavy gaze. Things between Connor and I only got more complicated by the day, and someone as perceptive as Haytham was bound to notice something eventually.

He sat back, finally. "He's welcome to stay in the room adjacent to yours for the night." He gave me a weary smile. "Why don't we all have supper and breakfast together, and have some _civil_ conversation for once?"

My head nodded in agreement as I returned his smile, relieved. "Sounds lovely, Haytham."


	40. Chapter 40: A Talk

Once I'd shown Connor to his room, I changed into the clean clothes I'd picked out, tossing the ill-fitting ones to the side for the time being. I'd ask one of the servants to take care of them later that day.

I had to admit, I did like the embroidery on the coat I'd chosen. The patterns curled around the hems, waist, collar, and cuffs of the dark green garment, and from the waist on down the back was covered in the same elegant silver designs. The lovely decoration had been what'd caught my eye and swayed me to buy the garment in the first place. True, it would take a bit to grow accustomed to how fancy it was compared to the plainer clothes I'd worn before, but it was a welcome change.

I walked over to my bookshelf. Supper wouldn't start for a few hours, so I had time to myself - a rare occurence these days. I figured I might as well spend what little time I had reading one of the novels I hadn't yet had the chance to read.

Roughly an hour of my time was spent just reading the book I'd plucked from the shelf at random. The chair I was sat in was comfortable - a fact I'd forgotten in all the time spent away from it. I resolved to use it more often when I was here - however scarcely I did visit. The story was just getting interesting when a knock on my door tore my attention away from reading.

"Come in." I called out.

The door opened to reveal Connor. "I... was growing bored." He said sheepishly.

I smirked, looking back to my book. "I wish I could say that. I've barely ever had the chance to _really_ sit down and relax in this place."

He shut the door behind him and looked at me seriously. "I thought we might talk about something."

I cast a curious glance at him, dog-earing the page of my book and setting it on my desk as I stood. "What do you want to talk about?"

He approached me, and I could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "I've noticed that since the battle at Monmouth, you have been acting... differently."

I looked away from him and shrugged. "I've just been busier than usual since then, that's all."

He inhaled deeply, then spoke. "I do not believe that is what is troubling you."

My gaze snapped back to him. "Then what do you think it is, Connor?"

He stepped closer, now within arm's reach. "I'm not sure, but I'd like to know."

My pulse picked up. "Con, really, I've just been a little stressed with all the paperwork I've had to handle."

He shook his head. "You have been less at ease when I've been around you, as though I make you uncomfortable. I'd like to know why."

I blinked at him. "'Less at-?' Connor-"

He cut me off, a frustrated edge to his voice. "I can understand if you do not wish to tell me, but do not lie to me, Courtney."

My mouth opened and closed as I frantically tried to come up with an answer. I was still so confused about my feelings for both him _and_ Ippolita, and I wasn't sure it would be wise to tell him I cared for him the way I did anyway given how tumultuous things among the order were. Truthfully, I had been quite busy, though that wasn't what kept me from admitting my attraction to him. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd been pushing him away. Looking back, I supposed I _had_ tripped over my words more and acted less than smoothly around him since that night in Monmouth.

I finally managed to choke out an answer, though it wasn't much of an answer. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know I was- It's nothing you've done or said or anything like that, it's just… It's personal, I promise."

He stepped even closer, lightly resting his hands on my upper arms - _very_ lightly on my injured left arm. "Then I want to help." I had to look down at our feet to calm myself. His proximity to me wasn't doing my nerves any favors, and I had to bite back an incredulous laugh at his _painfully_ oblivious words.

I shook my head, searching for the right words to get him to let the subject drop. "It's not- I need to figure this out myself. If I decide I want your help, I'll tell you. Promise."

He opened his mouth to argue again, but a knock on my door stopped him.

Our heads both whipped so our eyes could fixate on the door, both of us rigid. Who could it possibly be?

"Courtney?" Came a light voice, accented with an Irish brogue. I immediately relaxed.

"Just a moment, Grace." I answered. For once, I was more than happy to get out of Connor's reach.

I reached the door, and my hand reached for the handle, surprisingly steady for the split second of nervousness I'd experienced just moments ago.

"Grace." I greeted, happy to see the tall girl - well, _woman_ , now. Her bushy red hair looked a few shades darker than I remembered, still held back in a thick braid as it always had been. More freckles covered her skin. A goofy grin was on her face as she pulled me into a hug.

She walked into the room, pulling me with her. "It's been so long! How have you been?" Her body froze when she caught sight of Connor. "Who is this?"

Connor's fingers laced in front of him as he approached us. I took Grace's arm and tugged her towards him. "This is Connor, he's a- a really good friend of mine."

Connor nodded at Grace, and Grace, as lanky and ironically _un_ graceful as ever, gave him a less-than-perfect curtsy in return. "As you likely heard just now, my name is Grace. I work for Master Kenway here."

"It is nice to meet you." Connor replied.

"We were having a little chat before you knocked, nothing too important." I told Grace. With any luck, Connor wouldn't try to bring up the uncomfortable subject of my odd behavior - until later, at the very least.

Grace smiled and turned to me again. "I was hoping we might catch up - you've been gone for such a long time that I began to worry. Master Kenway assured me you were fine, but I can't help but be a bit concerned, you know? After all that training he put you through, I doubt what you do now is easy." Her expression grew more glum as she spoke, brow furrowing in worry.

I gave her a small shrug, trying not to give away the nasty wound on my arm that still throbbed whenever I moved the wrong way. "I've been fine for the most part." With a thought, I grabbed Grace's hand and tugged at Connor's arm. "Why don't we go walk around the property? You can help me show Con around the place."

Grace's smile returned, and she nodded eagerly. "Of course, it would be my pleasure."


	41. Chapter 41: Civil

Connor and Grace got along well enough, though I was the one making most of the conversation. Connor was so reserved, and Grace was still quite timid; I had no doubt if I left them alone in a room, nothing would be said between them. Despite that, our stroll through the blooming, carefully kept gardens and along the fields of tobacco had been a pleasant respite from the stress of work.

We were sitting in the drawing room, Grace having been kind enough to make tea. I was recounting a story of how I'd managed to steal a key from a man with several large dogs, just getting to the part where I'd turned the hounds loose on his home, when a woman walked in (I vaguely recalled her name being Theresa).

She'd politely announced supper and stolen both the tea set and Grace away to help out in the kitchens. Connor gave me a worried look when they'd left.

"Are you certain you are okay?" He asked. The brief conversation from earlier was still on his mind, then.

I nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Don't worry about me so much, alright?"

He didn't answer, instead abandoning his chair and walking alongside me as I led the way towards the dining room.

We entered said room to find Haytham already seated, lacking the navy hat and coat he usually wore. He nodded to us as we sat opposite him, his eyes flicking between us with a glimmer of emotion I couldn't quite place.

Haytham's eyes settled on me. "How is your arm?"

I shrugged. "It's healing. I'll need to clean it later tonight - don't want it infected."

He nodded and began to fill his plate with what food was present - seasoned pork of some type, various vegetables, and some rolls of crisp, golden bread, with a bottle of wine to the side. "Will you need any assistance?"

"I'll manage." I didn't hesitate to follow his lead, happy to fill my belly with the relatively luxurious food - what you could buy and hunt on the road was _typically_ not quite as good as what could be prepared in a house like this.

Connor did the same as us, and soon we were all eating and sipping on the expensive wine Haytham was so fond of. If memory served me, he'd drank it at nearly every supper I'd had with him in this building.

Haytham cleared his throat part of the way through the meal. "I noticed the two of you walking around the property with Grace. What do you think of the estate, Connor?"

Connor looked up from his food before slowly looking back down. "It is well-managed."

Haytham rose his eyebrows at the vague answer. "I do try to keep it organized around here - it wouldn't look nearly as nice as it does if I didn't."

"I can see that." Connor poked at the food on his plate with his fork. "I was not aware you owned quite so much property."

Haytham hummed as he cut into the pork on his plate. "I've had success in more ways than one during my time in the colonies."

Neither I nor Connor responded to the comment, and the remainder of supper passed relatively quietly.

* * *

The next day's breakfast passed similarly, with minimal conversation and a rather awkward feeling in the air. The three of us had nothing more to discuss, and so Connor and I grabbed our things and, with some unusually civil goodbyes, left for the homestead.

Connor didn't bring up the short, uncomfortable conversation we'd had in my room. It was a relief, as explaining the complicated feelings I had was the last thing I wanted to do at the time. Instead, we talked about the situation within my order. While I left out some details that I figured wouldn't concern him, he was very much aware of the division in the Templar rite by the time we reached the homestead.

I was happy to have him to listen to me both on the way there, as I doubted it'd be safe to speak of the subject to many people I knew - least of all some of those in the Order itself. Though, there were things I kept to myself.

The idea that some of the men I'd come to know could very well have every intention of stabbing Haytham in the back was something that caused me no small deal of distress. Church, Lee, Pitcairn, so many of those folks I'd met while doing courier work and running through hails of bullets to claim victory for men in red or blue. The only people I could safely trust at the moment were Ippolita, Weeks, and Haytham. Shay would likely be a safe bet, as well. Tommy'd been there with Weeks and Ippolita, too, though I would have to be careful with him. As much as I doubted the dissenters would be able to get enough money together to sway Tommy's hand, he was still in this all because of his greed. A short history of drinking together was unlikely to do much.

* * *

I pulled Connor aside the day after we'd returned.

"I need your help in speaking to Dorian." I said as I tugged him away from the manor and into the woods.

"About your plan to speak with the other branches?" He followed without struggle, thankfully. We hadn't yet gotten back into working as we once had, so he hadn't thrown himself back into the busy life he now led.

"Yes." I let go of his arm once we'd gotten far enough away from the main roads, out of earshot of the majority of people. "I'm not sure if he'll want to go along with all this or not, and I feel like you'd have a better chance of convincing him than I would."

Connor nodded as we walked. "While he is not as distrusting of you as he once was, he still questions your motives often."

I smiled wryly. "Yeah, that's probably why he and I fight like a cat and dog."

A tiny smirk found its place on Connor's face. "Or like a Templar and an Assassin."

I rose an eyebrow. "You and I get along just fine, and you're as much an Assassin as he is."

"That is different." He said quickly, before getting us back on our original topic. "I can accompany you when you talk to him, if you think that would help."

"Yes. I definitely do. The big question is what would convince him to go along with it, and what he'd want to do with Arno." I knew Charles wouldn't do anything without making sure Arno was in safe hands first. Who could say if he would feel comfortable with the Assassins here taking care of him?

I just hoped that whatever happened, Connor could convince him.


	42. Chapter 42 Abel Manor

Dorian stood from his chair. "Absolutely not."

I rose, chasing after him and grabbing his arm before he could leave the room. "Dorian, please. I know this is all a long-shot at best, and that you don't trust me-"

"The chances of it working are damn near nonexistent, not to mention this little _truce_ has only been going on for a handful of years! The French Brotherhood has its hands full as is, and it will not alter its ways just to make things work for _one_ other branch when we have more important issues to deal with." He tore his arm from my grasp, and made to walk out again.

He was stopped by the hulking form of Connor standing in the doorway. "Dorian, please sit down."

Dorian blinked at him. "I'm not staying to listen to whatever she has to-"

Connor stepped forward, causing the smaller man to back up. "You will listen to what _I_ have to say."

A tense moment passed before Dorian, with a rather bitter expression, moved back to his chair and slunk down into it once more. "Very well. But I make no promises as to whether or not _you_ will be able to change my mind."

Connor took the seat I'd been in just moments before, wasting no time in getting to the point. "As Courtney explained, the colonial rite is dealing with turmoil from within. All you need to do is convince the French Brotherhood and Order to refrain from making trouble for them."

Dorian quirked a brow. "Why should we care about what happens to them? They are our enemies."

"The Templars we have been working with are not. Those who have been causing _them_ trouble are our enemies, just as they are for Courtney and those she has worked most closely with." Connor replied evenly.

"Then we let them have at each other. We've no need to get involved." Dorian said.

"They are our allies, and the peace we have enjoyed the past couple of years will come to a violent end should we force them to face this alone - more so should Courtney's side lose. They have helped us in rebuilding the colonial Brotherhood; we should help them to maintain their Order." Connor argued.

Dorian was quiet, his expression terse. When he talked this time,his tone was less biting. "And my son? What of him? He's been here long enough that he's started to view this place as home."

"There are many in the homestead and Brotherhood alike who would gladly take responsibility for him in your absence. He would want for nothing, save perhaps your presence." Connor assured him.

One of Dorian's hands ran down his face, his voice coated with exhaustion as he spoke. "And if this is all for nothing?"

"Then you will be able to say that you were right." Connor said.

The two men stared one another down for a couple minutes, enough time for me to shift my weight from foot to foot as I awaited Dorian's response.

Finally, he stood again with a long sigh. "Fine. But if this fails, I will not be the one to wipe away your tears."

Connor and I nodded, and Dorian left the room.

"So, we get to take care of little Arno while Dorian's gone?" I asked.

Connor turned to look at me. "Us, and the entire rest of the Brotherhood and the residents of the homestead."

I nodded, mostly to myself. "Sounds like fun."

* * *

Haytham received my letter on our success in persuading Dorian to assist us in a week. By the next week, his letter in return arrived and instructed me to escort Dorian to Ippolita's home in New York, then bring them both to the docks where he'd arranged to have a ship carry them to France, making sure to keep them out of harm's way should any Templar dissenters catch wind of our little plan. If all went well, then Ippolita and Dorian would be on their way across the Atlantic in two weeks, during which I'd be making sure Dorian and Ippolita got along well and didn't meet an early end at the hands of one of my former associates. Connor assured Dorian that Arno would be well cared-for several times the day we left, with Dorian and his son exchanging what I could only assume to be some heart-wrenching good-byes in French.

It was a slightly over two day trip to Ippolita's manor. The conversations between Dorian and I were rather forced, and we tried not to talk too much while we were traveling, anyway. For the most part, the entire trip was a bit uncomfortable. Reaching the Abels' property would be a relief.

* * *

I knocked on the doors to the mansion, Dorian holding our horses a few meters behind me. Birds tweeted as we waited for someone to answer the doors.

When one of the doors opened, a tall, blond man dressed in fine clothing stood there, looking at us expectantly. He had bright blue eyes, strikingly similar to Ippolita's.

I cleared my throat. "I don't suppose Ippolita Abel is around?"

A look of understanding crossed over his face. "So you're the visitors she was expecting."

He leaned out and hollered something in French, and a young boy came and took my and Dorian's horses. "Your things will be brought in shortly. Please, right this way." The man opened the door further.

I glanced back at Dorian before following the blond man inside. I could hear Dorian trailing behind me as blondie led us through the building. Just like all my fellow Templars' homes I'd spent any amount of time in, it was filled with costly furniture and was kept spotless by the servants employed there. Blondie brought us to a room I could only describe as _dainty_. Lacey covers on the chairs and couches, a lacey rug, pristine white furniture, a tea set sitting atop a table. At said table sat Ippolita, a smile curling on her lips when she looked up to see me behind Blondie.

"Courtney!" She stood, crossing the room to clasp my hands in hers. "I received word from Haytham last week. I can not believe I will be going back to France!"

The clearing of a throat beside us made us look to Blondie. Ippolita giggled sheepishly. "Right, of course. Courtney, this is my older brother, Ottavio."

Blondie - _Ottavio_ gave me a nod. "Ippolita was very excited to see you. I expect you'll keep my sister out of trouble while she's under your watch."  
Ippolita scoffed. "Ottavio, I am not quite so much of a handful."

Her brother snorted. "Our adventures when we were children suggest otherwise."

"Blon- Ottavio," I barely corrected myself in time before I let the rude nickname slip out of my mouth. "I'm sure I can handle whatever mischief Ippolita manages to get herself into."

He hummed and glanced at Dorian, who stood rigidly near the doorway. "In that case, I'll take my leave. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lynn."

"Likewise, Master Abel." My words followed him out the door.

"Master Dorian, please, come over and let us speak." Ippolita tugged me over to the table as she talked to Dorian.

The man in question followed us, gingerly pulling out a seat and sitting just after we had. "Miss Abel. I understand we'll be working together."

She nodded, smiling as brightly as she usually did. "According to my Grandmaster, we will be working together in trying to work out some agreement between the French Brotherhood and rite, at least so the peace here in the colonies may continue."

"And we will be in touch throughout that time?" Dorian asked.

Ippolita nodded. "Yes, else they may not communicate as well. It would be a shame for this to fail only because they refused to speak, no?"

"That it would." Dorian agreed reluctantly.

They continued to speak, their politeness with each other relieving me; I wouldn't have to deal with incessant bickering as I had when Connor and Haytham had been trying to work together directly. The rest of the day passed slowly, the two of them taking the time to plan for what they would do in France. Haytham, I learned, had given Ippolita the names of Templars to contact there. Dorian already knew who he would have to speak to, having been in (admittedly quite sluggish) contact with them throughout his time in the colonies.

I was left with little to do other than doze in the warm room, hearing but not really listening to the conversation between Ippolita and Dorian. Every once in awhile, I'd get up and pace around, examining the room and its contents just to have something to focus on for a few minutes. Peaceful though it was, I was far too used to moving to be able to really enjoy the quiet moment.

Maybe I'd go patrol the property while they chatted tomorrow.


	43. Chapter 43: Guard Duty

Meals at Ippolita's house were similar to those in Haytham's manor. Ottavio had dined with us for both supper and breakfast, his wife and son - the same boy who'd taken Dorian and my's horses when we'd arrived - joining us. It was odd to listen in on the conversations between them, being the only one present who wasn't fluent in French. Even though Etienne had begun to teach me a bit a few years back, it hadn't been nearly enough to understand more than a few pleasantries and greetings.

Once we'd finished breakfast, Ottavio and his wife had herded their son into some other room in the spacious building, while Ippolita and Dorian retreated to the dainty room from yesterday. I'd excused myself to explore and keep watch outside, explaining that I _was_ there to protect them, after all.

The home had a nice view of New York, sunlight glinting off the sea beyond the closely-packed buildings and the rows of crops just beyond the Abel family property. It would be a long walk to the pier when I had to escort Ippolita and Dorian to their ship, I realized. With any luck, the little stroll would be uneventful.

My eyes were peeled as I walked the edge of the property, mindful to avoid stepping into the rows of their crops. Wheat, I believe, by how the shoots managed to reach up to my chest, though I could see what looked like cotton in a few plots. A handful of people - _paid servants_ , I hoped, as opposed to slaves - tended to it all, sweat dripping from their brows in the heat of early summer.

I wandered back into the building around midday, eager to see what would food would be served.

The salted cod we ate was delicious, accompanied with apple pie and _plenty_ of cider. Personally, I preferred whiskey, but I certainly wasn't about to argue with my hosts. Afterwards, I went back to roaming the premises, keeping one eye out for any figures creeping in the shadows.

I returned to my room - the same one I'd stayed in right after the business with Ivanov, as it happened - late that night, after having checked over the premises closely for any intruders. The guards stationed there could handle the night, I hoped, even though they weren't trained to handle an experienced Templar.

* * *

The first few days were quiet. I'd have my meals with the Abels and Dorian, we'd all go our separate ways in between, and I'd retire to the room I stayed in long after everyone else had left for theirs. Overall, fairly peaceful.

One night I was prowling around, keeping an eye out as I had the each night I'd been there. A movement in the wheat caught my eye. In any other circumstance, it would have been easily dismissed as the wind - but tonight the air was unusually still. My eyes scanned over the rows of wheat, looking for another movement among the sheafs of wheat, a flash of unfittingly bright color.

There, a bit of crimson among the browns and greens. My hand went for my pistol.

Before my fingers could close around the grip, a big blur of red erupted from the wheat before me and slammed into my body, sending me sprawling on the ground. With a grunt, I tried to force myself up, but a strong hand on my sternum pushed me flat to the ground.

The distinctive sound of metal against leather made my pulse pound faster. They had a weapon - a _blade_ \- of some sort. As it so happened, so did I.

I ejected the hidden blade mounted on my left wrist and swung up in time to hit _something_ , my assailant hissing and reeling back as flecks of blood spattered my face.

In just a heartbeat, I'd sat up and sank my blade into them again, earning a gasp of pain from them.

It was easy to push them away and off of me after that, though the sound of labored breathing and barely muffled grunts told me they were still very much alive. I righted myself, and stood over them. In a moment I'd decided the person was a man, curled into a ball on his side, hiding his face and clutching uselessly at his torso.

I rolled him over with one foot, examining him.

My mind was reaching for straws, trying to remember where I'd seen the man before. Bald, red coat, chubby face. He opened his mouth to spit out a few choice words, a flurry of slurs and insults and threats alike.

Ah, yes, that German accent jogged my memory. I'd met him once when I was still just doing courier-work for the Order. A bad-tempered merchant who'd snatched the letters out of my hand. He'd seemed sweet enough with his wife when he'd strode over to her immediately after, but unfortunately he didn't seem to grasp basic manners with strangers and acquaintances.

I crouched down next to him slowly, thinking about how sad it was that I had to kill another one of my former allies. A pang of sadness shot through me when my blade opened up a slit across his throat.

Leaving the body behind, I went inside, searching for a rag to wipe the blood off my face and clothes before it dried. I'd help a servant take care of the body later.

* * *

The next couple of days were quiet again. Everyone was asleep by the time I was starting to relax that night, still keeping watch on the land around the home as I leaned up against the shadowed side of the stables.

My head jerked up at the sound of footsteps.

"Courtney?" Ippolita. She was dressed down a bit more than usual, a simple tan dress on as opposed to the bright, lace-hemmed gowns she normally wore. I personally thought blue suited her better than the light brown.

"Shouldn't you be inside getting some beauty sleep?" I joked.

"I hardly need any to remain as beautiful as I am." She replied, a hint of laughter in her words. "But in all seriousness, I wanted to ask you something."

My head tilted. "And that would be…?"

"Dorian and I will be on that ship for at least a month and a half, if not twice as long should the weather cause issue, and then we will be in France for months afterwards, if not longer.." She began, stepping right up to my side and pressing herself against me. "And yet, I will only be here with you for, what, week?"

I swallowed back a bit of nervousness at how close she was. "Six days."

She grabbed at my hand. "Then surely, we can both spare a few hours to wander about the city together, yes? I will be going into the city tomorrow to run some errands for Ottavio, and I thought you might like to come along with me."

My tongue was tied. She _would_ need protection if she intended to head into the city, and Dorian would likely still be in the mansion, armed to the teeth himself and surrounded with guards. There really wasn't any reason for me to not go - not to mention I _did_ want to spend more time with the lovely woman.

"Courtney?" Ippolita prompted.

I cleared my throat. "Of course, I'd love to."

She grinned and let my hand drop back to my side as she started back toward the building. "We will leave after dinner, around an hour after noon. Try not to wear yourself out before then, yes?" She called over her shoulder.

"Yeah," I called back. "Yeah, I'll uh, I'll do that."


	44. Chapter 44: A Day on the Town

The next day, a bit of nervous excitement was fluttering around in my chest as soon as my eyes opened. Breakfast was short, and dinner equally so, and Ippolita was eager to get the two of us out of the house and into the city.

As per her request, we took Antony instead of walking. Her face had lit up in delight when I'd helped her up on the horse, and she'd been buzzing with energy and chatter as we'd rode down the streets of New York to the various places she had to visit that day.

Mostly, she was checking up on her brother's dealings in New York with merchants and shopkeeps. Her hand would shake my shoulder frantically each time we passed a landmark, so she could point it out and start going on and on about what she knew about it. Her happiness was palpable - and contagious. The muscles in my face were aching from smiling so much.

The sun was only just beginning to sink below the horizon. We were seated on Antony, Ippolita's hands wrapped around my middle and her voice in my ear, directing me somewhere else, though this time we were heading away from the city.

She directed us to a quaint little spot, apart from the still-bustling streets of the city and the tiny farms surrounding them. One of her hands settled on my shoulder to steady herself as she leaped down from Antony. I earned myself a teasing glare for not stifling a laugh quite in time.

After I'd hopped down beside her, she led us over towards one of the few trees in the area, dragging me down to sit beside her.

"I assume we're here for reasons of absolutely _dire_ importance." The grin on my face was as teasing as my words.

She leaned towards me, taking on a faux serious air. "I find that knowing your colleagues is _very_ important, Miss Lynn."

I chuckled. "'Miss Lynn?' Damn, and here I was thinking we were on a first name basis."

The joking seriousness was dropped quickly, and she looked down with a smile on her face. "In truth, I merely wanted an opportunity to be alone before I am shipped off to France."

My eyes followed her as she sat up again, her own blue ones gazing off at the lights of the city and the stars above it. I shifted so my back was against the tree, my hands folded across my lap. "You miss France?"

For a moment, she didn't answer. "Sometimes. My mother, mostly."

I glanced at her. "Is she still there?"

A tiny shrug marked her response more than the words she uttered. "In a way."

Silence dragged on for some time, the pair of us content to watch as the oranges in the sky turned to dark blue.

Her voice - soft though it was - cut through the quiet like a knife. "She was from Italy. She married my father there, and then he brought her back to live with him." Her lips curved upwards a bit. "She would describe to me and my brother how beautiful the countryside was, how much she missed it. I can still remember her broken French." She giggled. "She often confused words, and would fall back to speaking Italian when she was frustrated."  
"French and Italian _are_ pretty similar. I'd probably get confused, too." I said, then paused. "Hell, I get confused with Spanish sometimes, and that's not exactly similar to English."

She nodded. "I am lucky to have come here when I was still young, else I would not have learned English quite so easily. She had to try learning it all as an adult."

I nodded in agreement and we fell quiet for a moment. My tongue darted out to wet my lips in apprehension before I spoke. "If you don't mind my asking, what did you mean by 'in a way?'"

She shook her head sadly. "She caught an illness of some type. My father never told my brother and me which, but she was kept away from us for her last few months. I can only assume it was contagious."  
My hand reached out to rest on hers. "I'm sorry." I murmured.

"It could not have been helped." Her hand turned, moving to squeeze mine. "We left a few months thereafter. Father had found business in the colonies and thought we might fare better here." It was quiet for a few seconds, then she continued. "Perhaps I will visit her grave if I am near Lyon during my stay in France."

I nodded. "I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

Ippolita turned to examine me. "You have never spoken to me of your family. They are not unwell, I hope?"

I shrugged. "They... haven't been around in a long while. Haytham's the closest thing I've got to family, really. Well, him and the Order as a whole."

Her head tilted. "Did he adopt you?"

I gave an unsure nod. "In a way, I guess. If nothing else, I'm the only real apprentice he's ever taken on." I paused. "It's not really something we talk about a whole hell of a lot."

Her hand abandoned mine to toy with the cuff of my coat. "He must be proud. You've made quite a name for yourself in such a short period of time."

"Mostly I just do what I'm ordered to. Though I do imagine not many can brag about surviving running into barrages of musket fire as many times as I have." My grin was the slightest bit cocky, though she hardly seemed to mind.

"I admit, I am envious of how exciting your life seems. This assignment to France is one of the first truly thrilling ones I have had in years." Ippolita murmured.

I smiled. "It can be stressful, at times. Though I doubt I'd have the patience to do much of what you'll be doing. Desk-work doesn't really suit me, I've found."

"I can imagine." She replied, a tiny grin on her face.

For some time, we continued to talk, discussing whatever subject came to mind. Occasionally we'd laugh, and every so often our talk would grow solemn. By the time I stood from where we sat and helped her up, the stars were out and shining more brilliantly than they ever had in the 21st century.


	45. Chapter 45: Farewell For Now

The last few days before Ippolita and Dorian left passed quietly. Only one other poor, unfortunate soul tried to sneak into the building, his plan quickly ruined when my blade bit into his neck from behind. It'd been an unwise decision to try to sneak in through a window, not that he'd learn from the mistake.

Ippolita and I snuck away from the house a few more times, finding nice, secluded areas where we could laugh and share stories. The peaceful, happy moments would be something I missed when she left for France.

The day of their departure arrived soon - too soon, in my opinion. Dorian and Ippolita had packed up their things the night before, and the servants of the household loaded them into a carriage to be transported to the docks. I'd be escorting the people themselves by foot, to avoid drawing too much unwanted attention from any dissenters that might be lurking about the city. The last thing any of us needed was for Ippolita or Dorian to be killed so soon before they set off. We were just hoping no one awaited them on the ship they'd be stuck on for the next few months.

Ippolita was the one to lead us through the crowds of New York. My eyes scanned the figures around us, searching for one that might have a knife in hand or a pistol on their hip. Soldiers marched past us as we got closer to our destination. The nearby fort was likely feeling the pressure from local malcontents; more and more people were growing to support the Patriots' cause, and many were joining up with the army. British soldiers were higher-strung than I remembered them being before all this mess. More than just a few grumbled about just wanting to go home, the poor guys.

The sharp tang of salt on the air became more and more noticeable as we drew closer to the docks. The occasional sailor would saunter by, searching out the nearest tavern.

My gaze didn't stop roving around the people surrounding us even after we reached the docks. It wasn't entirely unfeasible that an enemy might be lurking nearby, waiting by the ship to strike.

Ippolita urged Dorian on ahead, insisting she and I would catch up soon. Her hand grabbed my coat sleeve, and she tugged me towards an alleyway. Once we were out of sight of everyone else, she clasped my hands in hers.

"I will write to you the first moment I am able. I trust you will be at the same address?" Those bright blue eyes stared into mine hopefully.

"With any luck, yes. I don't intend to go anywhere soon, and Haytham doesn't seem intent on placing me elsewhere." My hands squeezed hers.

She fell silent, chewing on her bottom lip while glancing at me nervously. I was about to ask her if something else bothered her when she leaned forward, her lips catching mine. My body froze in shock, unsure of whether to push her away in fear of someone seeing us, or to pull her closer. In the end, I didn't move, and she backed away, stuttering out apologies.

"I- I am so sorry- I just thought- I must have misread the situation, I-" The jumble of words stopped when my lips softly brushed against hers.

She stared at me in wonder when I pulled away just a second later, my eyes glancing at the ends of the alleyway to pick out any possible onlookers. "You didn't misread anything."

Her fingers came up to touch her lips lightly, a small, girlish grin lighting up her face. "Oh."

I laughed quietly at her reaction, swallowing the bit of anxiety I felt. What did this make us? Where would this put Connor and I?

After a moment of hesitation, I asked. "So, where does this leave us?"

The pleasant smile fell from her face, replaced by a frown, and I cursed myself. "I suppose we won't be seeing each other for some time… Though, if you have no one else you might pursue…" She trailed off, a bit of hope in her voice.

My eyes couldn't meet hers, and she didn't get an answer. She sighed softly. "I see. Do you think that maybe… you could have us both?"

My stomach did a flip at the idea. _Both_ of them? Would that even work? Would _he_ be okay with it? There were too many questions, and far too few answers. "I-I'd… have to speak to the other person first. I'm not sure he'd be keen on 'sharing' me."

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as I looked at her again. "Connor?" She asked.

After a moment, I nodded. "Yes."

"I guess my first impression of you two was… not far from the truth, then" She murmured, falling quiet again. "Do you think… he might be open to the idea, at least? Given how others might view a romance between two women, perhaps being with a man as well might help the situation." Her hands toyed with the cuff of my sleeve.

"I have no idea." I answered honestly.

"Ask him, then, when you feel the moment is right. After, we can decide where to go from there." One of her hands rose to my cheek. "Regardless of what happens, know that I respect whatever your final decision may be."

My own hand rose to rest on hers, my head tilting into the warmth of her palm.

She cast a look at the docks. "I should go; the ship will leave any minute."

I nodded, and we walked to her ship. Dorian stood on the pier, waiting for Ippolita. She turned to me one last time.

"I will miss you, Courtney." She said.

We hugged again, separating after a moment under gazes of passersby - it had been a while since people's stares had felt quite so heavy. I smiled at her. "We'll see each other again. Promise."

Dorian called out for Ippolita, gesturing at the ship. Seemed it was time for them to board. Her hands squeezed mine one last time, and then she was hurrying off towards the ship, walking up the plank with the Assassin and vanishing over the edge of the large vessel.

I lingered on the docks, watching until the teal of Ippolita's dress wasn't visible from where I stood.

* * *

Making my way back to the Abel property was a simple matter. Running through the crowds and sprinting over rooftops made the return trip much shorter, thankfully.

I chose to leave that night, eager to get back to the relative safety of the Homestead. Sure, Assassins were quite literally everywhere there, but right now, my fellow Templars were more of a danger than any of the Brotherhood. Odd, that things had ended up that way. But I certainly wasn't going to argue against the protection I'd be given there.

My thoughts wandered to Haytham as I left the city limits, pointedly avoiding the mess that was my love life. His manor was relatively isolated. If he was wise, he would have hired more guards by now - the Order couldn't afford to have its Grandmaster murdered in such a tumultuous time. Not to mention something told me Charles wouldn't serve quite as well as our leader at this time. I hadn't noticed any new additions last time I'd been there, though Connor and I _had_ only stayed for a day and a night. Hopefully, Haytham wouldn't be too proud to make sure he was safe from the dissenters.

Nights on the road were quiet, but tense for me these days. Fearful of attracting any unwanted attention from soldiers and other Templars alike, and content not to add to the heat of summer, I forewent any fires after the sun went down. Relying on Antony to keep watch while I slept wasn't the wisest of ideas, but the steed seemed content enough to stand around drowsily while I caught some much-needed sleep. If nothing else, he seemed happy to be off the road for a few hours - same as I.


	46. Chapter 46: Back Home

A subtle sense of relief settled over me when I rode into the Homestead, passing by the newer additions to the small settlement. Moussa waved me over to the inn as I passed by. Odd, he was usually out at sea or hanging around the docks. I tugged on Antony's reins, earning a whinny of protest as I steered him back to the inn.

The small man sauntered towards me after I jumped down, throwing an arm around my shoulders. It was odd to be able to look someone in the eye without tilting my head up.

"It's been so long! I thought the both of us might sit down for an hour or two, catch up on what we've been doing." He explained, pulling me towards the inn. One of my hands gently pried his arm from myself.

"Alright, alright. I could use a drink anyway. Let me just make sure Ant doesn't run off." I turned back to Antony, guiding him towards the fence to tie him there.

"Arno's been going on about how Charles left a couple weeks ago. Seems he misses him _just_ a bit." Moussa told me, walking beside me as we approached the inn.

"I expected as much. If nothing else, he has quite a few people to look out for him here." My hand reached for the door, but it swung open before it landed. A trio of drunk recruits looked at Moussa and me owlishly, stuttering out apologies as one held the door for us while the other two moved so we could enter. Moussa and I exchanged a grin once we'd passed them.

Moussa's laughter was unrestrained as he took a seat at the counter. "You'd think we were royalty."

I scoffed. "I hope not, with the way they speak of King George."

He nodded, then turned when Corrine, the kindly old woman who ran the place with her husband, approached. "Ale for two, if you don't mind, ma'am?"

Corrine shot him a smile "Of course, Ayouba. Not a problem." She disappeared below the counter, popping back up a second later with two mugs in hand.

After she'd filled them, she set them down in front of us. "Now, who's paying for these, I wonder?"

My answer cut off Moussa's. "We can just split it, however many we end up drinking."

His eyebrow rose. "Are you sure? You're not usually one to turn down a free drink."

"I have more money than I need. Might as well use it." I shot back; Haytham was generous with my pay, admittedly. Sometimes it felt more like an allowance than anything else.

With a shrug from him, the matter dropped, and we got to drinking and talking. He was lovely company, always able to carry on the conversation.

"...And I'll be going back to Delaware soon enough to visit my family - Umut's turning seven in a month." He explained,

A grin curled on my lips. "You should introduce me to them sometime. I can't imagine there's a dull moment around when they're _your_ kids."

The chuckle he answered me with was a bit bashful, out of character for the ever-boastful Moussa. "Surprisingly, they're not. Fanta's too young yet to cause many problems, and Umut is shaping up to be a fine young man, if a bit shy. Metlem is a wonderful mother."

"What's Metlem like?" I asked.

A dreamy sigh left him. "Incredible. Tall, strong-willed, outspoken - her voice is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard -, a lover of the sea." He paused, a wide grin on his face. "It's how we met, you know. She needed to travel, and demanded I bring her to Delaware from Maine, where she'd come from Turkey."

After a sip of ale, I quirked an eyebrow. "'Demanded?'"

He laughed. "Yes, I thought at first that making an extra stop would be too much of a burden, but she insisted, and threatened to stow away and somehow stage a mutiny if I didn't _let_ her come along." The grin softened into a fond smile. "As I said, she's strong-willed."

I smiled. "If I'm ever in Delaware, I'm going to make a point to find her and sit down with her for an hour. She sounds like the kind of woman I'd like to meet."

"I'm sure she'd be happy to meet you." His tone was warm. In another moment his expression turned teasing. "What about you, Courtney? Surely you've some lucky man to call yours, right?"

The mouthful of ale I'd just swallowed nearly choked me. I gagged for a moment, Moussa laughing the entire time he slapped my back, before I answered. "I- well, I mean, it's complicated, you know?"

His grin only widened. "It always is when you're young, isn't it? Who is it?"

I scoffed. "That's hardly any of your-"

"Connor!" He exclaimed. An argument rose in my throat, though died off when I turned and saw the man in question coming towards us, white robes standing out sharply against the dark wood of the walls.

Connor nodded to Moussa, then his eyes fell on me. "How fared things in New York?"

"Dorian and Ippolita are on their way to France as we speak. They seemed to get along nicely enough, so I'd say things went about as well as they could've." I answered.

Connor nodded and took a seat beside me, and my eyes turned to Moussa, looking for an excuse not to look Connor in the eye quite yet. Between Ippolita's suggestion and Moussa's teasing just moments before, I was just a bit nervous around Connor.

Moussa's knowing grin didn't help. He most certainly had caught on. "Courtney and I were just catching up. What brings you to the inn, Connor? You don't normally drink."

"I'd heard Courtney had returned." He responded simply.

I looked back up at him, clearing my throat. "So, anything interesting happen while I was away?"

"Little. For once, it has been calm." He answered.

"That's good." I glanced at Moussa, annoyance surging through me briefly at that damned smirk on his face, then turned back to Connor. "Hey, when do you have some free-time? As in, a couple free hours or so?"

His eyes darted away from me in thought for a moment. "I am unsure. With Dorian gone, many of his responsibilities have fallen to me. Why do you ask?"

I shrugged, hiding the disappointment I felt. "It's… It's nothing important. It can wait for quite some time."

His nod was slow. Quiet curiosity sparked in his eyes, though he let the matter drop. "Very well, then. I suppose you'll be returning to doing as my father asks, then?"

"Probably. Might help with the recruits. So I'll either be in my room, out in the middle of a firefight, or behind the manor for another eternity." I replied.

Connor hummed. "We will need to decide who will take over most of the training. Achilles is stubborn, but he cannot handle it all."

"Stephane and Reeds, maybe? They've been around the longest." I suggested.

"Perhaps." Was Connor's only reply. He and Moussa continued chatting, and I slid some bills on the counter once my mug was drained of ale, excusing myself.

Once I was out the door, a long sigh left me. As much as I'd wanted to get the matter of him and Ippolita squared away as quickly as possible, it would have to wait. For the time being, I'd have to throw myself into whatever duties happened to fall to me.

Antony nickered as I retrieved him and made for the manor, ready to settle in to the quiet bustle of the Homestead once again.


	47. Chapter 47: Training and Plans

May and June passed in a hot, sweaty blur. Days blended together, marked only by the occasional rainy day and humorous accident during training. Haytham, in light of all that had happened in April, had stopped sending me into battles. In time, different jobs fell to me, Connor, Stephane, and Reeds, the four of us working endlessly to keep up with the ever-eager recruits and the Homestead. Connor would go out for days and sometimes end up with a stray or two in tow when he returned, invariably looking for work and a new home. Each was welcomed with open arms, and I began to wonder how long it would be before the Homestead stopped being more of a village and started to turn into a city of its own.

Moussa would stop by every two weeks, having settled into helping set up more bases throughout the colonies by delivering supplies. He'd seek me out, drag me away from whatever I'd been doing, and sit me down in a bar stool as Corrine handed us our drinks. I always put up less of a fight than I should have, and he knew it. The two of us needed breaks, and being around someone who was content to talk about his family as opposed to the ongoing war around us was something _I_ needed. We both promised one day I'd meet Metlem, Umut, and Fanta in person - when our work wasn't so demanding, and we could take a week to relax and get to know each other. A vacation.

I heard little from the members of the Order that I knew - particularly Tommy. I supposed it would make sense, given his _usual_ , less-than-legal work. Jack Weeks, surprisingly, had contacted me multiple times, giving me some information and even asking after my injury. Out of curiosity, I'd asked him if he knew anything about Shay. His only reply had been vague. Disappointing though it was, it hinted towards Shay having been sent on some mission by Haytham, one that wasn't to be discussed very much until he'd returned. I'd never been much of a worrier, but with all that was going on in the Order, I couldn't help but have the occasional intrusive thought regarding Shay - and the rest of the Order, for that matter.

Ippolita had only sent a single letter thus far, detailing the long, boring journey to France. She and Dorian hadn't yet reached Paris, though they'd contacted a few of the Brotherhood there to guide them safely. A great deal of the letter was filled with bits lamenting the lack of time we'd had together, and she - as usual - felt no shame in writing down exactly how it made her feel. I'd frantically obscured the paper it was written on when Connor walked in while I'd been reading it, my cheeks burning like I'd been caught reading erotic poetry - though, with her words, it may as well have been. The look of confusion on his face when he'd left had both embarrassed and relieved me. The letter had closed with a few lines instructing me to wait before I responded. She wasn't quite sure where Dorian and the rest of their little entourage would end up staying long-term, and she didn't want to miss anything I might have to say.

By the time the first day of July rolled around, I'd fallen into an easy pattern of waking before the sun, getting ready, going through documents, training the recruits, and winding down with a few stiff drinks before going back to sleep.

I woke and went through most of my routine, as per usual, only to be pulled aside by Connor in the middle of training the bright-eyed recruits. I shrugged and mouthed a "sorry" to Reeds, who could only turn awkwardly back to the impatient recruits and stutter out some orders. Poor man.

Connor guided me towards the side of the manor, his hand lingering on my upper arm even after he'd steered me out of everyone's sight.

The question he asked caught me off-guard. "Will you be busy on your birthday?"

I stared blankly for a moment before giving him a small smile. "That's all up to you, now, isn't it? You're the boss around here, remember?"

His hand abandoned my arm to rub at the back of his neck. "I- of course. I merely wished to check with you to see if… If you would not mind spending the day with me?"

I nodded my head vigorously. Catching myself and acting a little more calm, I replied properly, "Yeah, yes, absolutely! I'd love to- I mean, y'know it's not like I really had much else planned."

The corners of his lips turned upwards in a bright smile, and I couldn't help but return the expression as he spoke. _Gods_ , I wanted him to smile more. "I'll come get you that morning - I have something planned."

"I'll be looking forward to it." I answered.

His goodbye was clumsy - cute considering how stoic he could be.

It was nice to have something to look forward to for my birthday, having never usually celebrated it much. For now though, work was in order.

Awkward orders were the best Reeds could give to the recruits, I realized as I returned, his voice more quiet and gentle than most instructors should be when training future _assassins_. The glance he sent me when I took over again was full of relief as he went back to examining the weapons and light armor we would outfit the recruits with for training. A twinge of sympathy tugged at me; the poor man would hardly be able to take over Dorian's work with how timid he was - someone else would have to do so.

When the day was done, I asked him if he wanted to join me for a drink.

"Apologies, Miss Lynn. All that business was tiring - it'd probably be best if I wound down in a nice bit of peace and quiet." He paused, quickly adding on, "Another time, perhaps."

I watched the man retreat in the direction of the little camp he'd set up when he'd first arrived. He didn't seem partial to the idea of building a tiny house like some others; if anything, enclosed spaces made him even more anxious than usual. As long as he was happy, I supposed.

A sigh left me as I walked to the inn. Maybe some of the homesteaders would be up for a few mugs worth of ale.


	48. Chapter 48: A Break

10 July came more quickly than I thought it would. Connor pulled me aside right after I'd finished breakfast, assuring me he'd found someone to take care of my usual responsibilities for the day and urging me to grab my bow. It was easy to forget the thing when I barely used it these days for anything other than weekly practice.

He was leading me into the woods - I should've figured as much ahead of time, really. Our destination, as it turned out, was a simple set-up: targets, a rather large basket, and a small, as-yet-unlit campfire.

When I turned to look at him, Connor's hands were clasped in front of him - that nervous little tic of his I'd come to appreciate. "It is not much, but I thought you might enjoy a day to simply relax after all the chaos of everything."

I smiled. "That's thoughtful of you, Con. I love it."

We took a few moments to get things set up; he messed with whatever he had tucked away in the basket while I put together my bow and strung it. I'd practiced assembled and disassembling the take-down enough to have perfected the process.

For a few hours, we alternated between taking turns shooting the targets, talking, and taking small walks. It wasn't much, really, but it was perfect to me. Simply having the day to relax and move around as I pleased - without worrying about recruits or paperwork or wars - was an incomparable gift.

By the time night started to fall and Connor and I had eaten the venison he'd cooked, I was sweaty from the summer heat and comfortably tired. The fire burned bright, crickets and what birds were still up made plenty of noise, and the stars were bright. Connor and I joked as I leaned on him, drowsy but excited.

"Oooh, what about the time I got drunk and arm-wrestled that sailor back in Boston?"

Connor snorted. "You upended the table and tried to tackle him, only to trip over a chair in the process."

"Hey, it wasn't like I was focused on the chair." I argued. "Besides, I did tackle him in the end!"  
Connor's eyebrow rose with a scoff. "You dragged him into the streets, nearly got arrested, and I had to run with you thrown over my shoulder for three blocks."

My eyes rolled. "I _did_ still tackle him, though."

Connor's head was shaking as he laid back, letting me drop to the ground ungracefully. I huffed and scooted closer to him again, content. It had been _ages_ since we'd been able to be close like this, always being around other Assassins or homesteaders or just… busy. War had a way of taking up people's time, even if you weren't in the middle of a gunfight.

A glance out of the corner of my eye told me Connor was relaxing for once, too. The thought of telling him of Ippolita and her idea came to mind, but I pushed it away. I could wait, and so could he. Besides, there was no point in starting something right now. Not when we both were so busy with keeping our own orders in shape. Not when things were so shaky between them. Not in the middle of a damned war.

We didn't talk a lot after that. My eyelids seemed to grow heavier, but stayed open nonetheless. Both of us were content to simply lie there and let time pass, just for a little while.


	49. Chapter 49: A Matter of Time

Summer, autumn, and winter all came and went, and the situation with the traitors only worsened. They didn't dare come for me yet - not when I was in the midst of the Assassins. My colleagues weren't so lucky. I received letter after letter detailing the passing of someone I'd met, or delivered a letter to, or even worked with, and every single time I felt my heart sink a bit more. How long until they tried to go for Haytham? Or Tommy? Weeks? Shay? Hell, I hadn't heard a word about Shay since the beginning of summer, with what frustratingly little Weeks had told me.

As I'd done for the past couple years, I spent most of my time alternating between paperwork and training and quick assists in battles, the added task of hunting down the occasional traitor only adding more weight to bear on my shoulders. My feelings were always mixed when I killed them - some were people I'd once (passingly) called friends, others were just strangers who meant I and the rest of the Order harm.

Ippolita had arrived and settled in to Paris by late August, after a series of frustrating delays courtesy of the French Brotherhood. She'd sent tiny gifts since then - pressed flowers she'd saved before they'd wilted, a little pendant, a new set of gloves that I'd thanked her profusely for in a response -, and I'd returned the favor to the best of my ability. I could only hope she'd like the poetry book I'd sent her last time - and that she hadn't somehow read it before.

Though Ippolita's letters often focused more on her and me, she still took the time to explain the situation in France. Peace would be even more difficult there, unsurprisingly, and Ippolita was only safe due to her shared residence with Dorian. The two of them were, as she described it, "getting along swimmingly, even if the waters they swam in were treacherous." I suspected she was exaggerating, but so long as Dorain was cooperating, I couldn't ask for much more.

I saw little of Connor. In between missions we'd barely have time to sit and talk, and most of it was just catching up. As much as I cared about him, I couldn't help but be thankful we hadn't tried to become anything more than friends by this point. It would've been hell to keep up a good relationship with him when we were both so busy and stressed, especially when things just kept getting worse.

I ventured out to Johnson Hall every once in a while on Haytham's behalf, checking on Jeanne and Anton to make sure they were conducting their business in a way he'd approve of. I took the time to visit Kanatahseton on those trips, stopping to say hello to Ame and the other women I'd made friends with my first time in the village. Slowly, I got better with sewing thanks to them - with no shortage of jokes in English and Kanienkehaka about how bad I'd been. I'd started to pick up the general gist of a few words - just a few, as I didn't spend quite enough time with them to learn any more. A shame, but to be expected with all the tasks I was burdened with.

Jeanne and Anton, luckily, proved to be loyal; I was hesitant to trust many people in the Order, beyond Haytham and Shay. Jeanne interacted with the Kaienkehaka daily, and she seemed to be well-liked by them, even if they were still suspicious and skeptical. I couldn't blame them; I wouldn't have liked being in their shoes in the slightest.

The war - the _revolution_ \- was building up. At this point, it was just a matter of time before someone backed down. Too many people were dying, too many supplies were being used, too much land was being blown up and strewn with the corpses of soldiers and the weapons they'd once used. It needed to end soon, before even more was lost. Rumor had it that the increasing cost of ferrying soldiers over and supplying them was causing issues for Britain - especially with the Continental Navy in their way -, and that they'd leave within the next two years. It was funny, really, that the war mostly felt like a part of the background at this point. The conflict within the Order occupied my thoughts more than anything else.

Haytham was as busy as I was - moreso, in all honesty. He was weeding out dissenters, fighting to keep important bases of operations up and running, all on top of his usual work. How he was managing was a mystery to me, but I hoped he wasn't overworking himself. Gods knew he was prone to doing as much.

As hectic as everything was, it all had to come to a head at some point. I was just waiting.


	50. Chapter 50: Regrettable

Birds sang outside, voices carrying clearly through the April air. The only notable sound at this time of the morning, I enjoyed the calm shortly before the sun rose.

With a drawn out groan and a quick stretch, I sank back into my chair. The pile of unread and unsorted letters was shrinking, and only a few remained; that job was almost done, soon to be replaced by one of my other duties. Connor'd left a couple days ago on Assassin business, and now I had to pick up some of his duties as well. I'd have to remember to complain about it when he got back - jokingly, of course, as always.

Pushing myself up, I abandoned my room, heading downstairs to grab something to eat. I grabbed the first thing I found - dried fruit that had somehow survived over the winter -, stepped out of Achilles' way as he entered, and made my way outside for a walk. My hand turned the handle right as someone knocked from the other side.

A familiar face forced me to freeze in my tracks, a sense of joy overcoming me once my brain caught up with my eyes. "Shay!"  
He let out a half-hearted chuckle when my arms wrapped around him, returning the gesture before drawing away. "It's been quite a while."

"I didn't even know where you were - no one would tell me. What have you been doing?" I asked. The broad smile on my face faded when he looked away. "What's wrong?"  
After a moment, he shook his head with a frustrated sigh. "The dissenters - they're going to be going after Haytham soon. I've sent word to Weeks, Lee, and Thomas, but I fear they won't be enough."  
My brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"They have an entire company - the British forces have made plans to attack a fort some miles from the Grandmaster's estate, and one of the traitors intends to direct some of their force to 'investigate' the place under the pretense of Kenway being directly involved with the Continental Army." He explained, voice bitter.

My heart sank. "There's no way we can fight them all. We have to get him out before they get there." I turned to run back inside and grab my things, only to be stopped by a hand grabbing my arm.

"It's not just that, Courtney." Shay hesitated to continue. "I've been collecting information ever since this damned rift started - hunting down our former brothers and sisters and taking what knowledge I can from them." He paused again. "We'll have to move from the colonies."  
I stared blankly at him. "We have to leave?"

He hesitated. "Until we can identify who is friend and foe, it's too dangerous to risk any of our highest-ranking. If Haytham dies, all the work you've been doing these past few years crumbles, and the Order has to try rebuilding while fighting against the Brotherhood in the process."

My mouth opened and closed, words not coming out. We were _leaving?_ "But… what about everything here? Where will we go?"

"I couldn't say - somewhere in Europe, probably. Once we're with the others that are leaving, we can decide. Pitcairn will remain, as will Church, due to their business with the militaries."

"And Lee?" I asked.

"He's in trouble as is. His bitterness towards Washington and some other poor decisions have left him in a bad position - it's likely he'll be replaced within the year in any case." Shay told me.

"So we just… leave everything? All of it?" Disbelief laced my tone. We couldn't really just leave it all, could we?

"For now. We'll have to trust that the Assassins can clean up what we leave behind." Shay told me.

My eyes dropped to the ground, then scanned the surrounding area. It was painful to realize that, honestly, I really had begun to think of Davenport homestead as my home. For all I knew, I'd never see the inhabitants of the place again. I might never work with the colonial Brotherhood again. I might never see Connor again.

Connor. He wasn't here. I couldn't tell him goodbye. The ache in my chest worsened, and I turned back to Shay. "I… Connor isn't here. I can't tell him…"

He stared for a moment, then he rested a hand on my shoulder. "You can send a letter before we depart. Time isn't on our side right now. I'm sorry."

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, alright. Let me just… I need to get some things."

I gathered up what few belongings I was _certain_ I would need, packing them away neatly into a bag. After a long look at my desk, covered in papers and quills and inkwells, I heaved my bag over my shoulder and made my way downstairs.

The sound of two voices made me stop just before walking into the dining room.

"It's been a while, Achilles." Shay said, voice strained.

"That it has." Achilles' response was clipped. The tension in the room could have been sliced with a butter knife, and the long silence after Achilles' words was suffocating.

"Your leg?" Shay asked. "How is it?"

"As well as it can be, after taking a bullet." Achilles said.

A moment passed, and Shay cleared his throat. "I tried to stop him, you know."

"And I should thank you? Because of you and all you did, the Brotherhood was destroyed for years!" Achilles was intense, but not loud - he seemed well-aware of how early it was.

"If you had listened to me after Lisbon - just for a _moment_ \- I wouldn't have needed to!" Shay argued, voice just as low and intense. "I took no joy in killing them - _any_ of them. It was what needed to be done."

Achilles scoffed, then went quiet. His words were soft when he did speak again. "You always were stubborn." He paused. "Perhaps, with this… 'peace' between the Brotherhood and the Templars, we can learn to put it behind us."

Shay's voice mellowed as well, sad and regretful. "One day, perhaps. Things are complicated right now. I and several others will be leaving - Courtney and Haytham included."  
"I'd heard something of the situation from Connor and Courtney's conversations. I'm sure they think me deaf." Achilles said dryly.

Shay huffed with amusement, then his sad tone returned. "She'll miss him."

"As will he." Achilles assured. "But he'll move on."

"I have no doubt she'll do the same." Shay said.

Silence fell upon them.

After a few moments, sure that the conversation was now over, I entered. "Are you ready?" I asked Shay.

He looked to me, then back to Achilles. "Yes. Let's get on with it."

I nodded to Achilles as Shay and I stepped out the door. My gaze swept over the homestead, the handful of people walking on the dirt paths - Prudence, a hand rubbing her stomach; Corrine, hauling an armful of barley back to the inn; Norris, pick over his shoulder and a length of rope in his free hand. I stopped by the stables, patting Antony's snout reassuringly and hugging the rust-colored horse one last time.

"Bye, Ant. Take care of things around here for me." I told him. His only response was a quiet nicker.

Shay led me to the docks, we boarded the _Morrigan_ , and we set off.


	51. Chapter 51: Solemn Discussion

The trip passed quickly, first on sea, then on land. It reminded me of the first few days I'd spent in this time - traveling with Shay after he'd scraped me up off the dirt outside Boston. Again, I didn't know where Shay'd gotten the horses from, and again, my heart was heavy as we passed by plantations being worked by slaves. I prayed I lived long enough to see the end of it, hopefully more cleanly and quickly than my home timeline.

When we reached the manor after a few days, my thighs ached from being sat atop a horse for days on end, and apparently Shay wasn't much better.

"This is why I prefer the sea." He muttered as we dismounted. I snorted, grabbing my bag and hurrying inside with Shay.

The place had guards about; it was something new and sort of _creepy_ , in all honesty. Haytham must have hired them - a wise move, even if I didn't like their stares. Shay and I went different directions, him searching for Haytham and I dropping my bag in my room.

Once I'd done that, my feet carried me toward the study, where Haytham spoke with Lee, Pitcairn, Tommy, Weeks, and now Shay. A few faces were missing - Church stood out in particular.

"The others?" I asked.

"Dead or otherwise missing." Pitcairn said.

I nodded as I took a seat. "I see."

Haytham's eyes lingered on me, a tired look in them. "I trust things were well with the Assassins?"

"Better than with us." I answered.

"That's hardly saying much." He scoffed. "Down to business."

"You're certain leaving is the best decision?" Pitcairn asked.

"At the moment, it's too difficult to decide who is or is not to be trusted. Even some of those who have been with us from the beginning are suspect." Heavy silence followed Haytham's words. "Until this revolution ends, our attention will be divided between the traitors and controlling the results of this war. Shay, Courtney, Charles, and Weeks shall accompany me."  
"And what is our destination, exactly?" Weeks asked.

"You'll be told after we've set sail. Until then, we must be careful that even those we _believe_ we can trust are unaware of our future whereabouts." Haytham explained.

Charles spoke up. "When do we leave for Boston?"

"Tomorrow. With the incoming threat of an entire company, it would be best we're all absent for their arrival." Haytham said solemnly.

"And what about me?" Tommy chimed in. "What happens to my pay when you're on the other side of the ocean?"

"You'll have to figure that out for yourself, Hickey. Our main priority is making sure those in the Order can be trusted - something that's difficult for us to do at the moment." Haytham answered.

Tommy settled into his seat again, face sour.

As we figured out a few tiny details - we'd travel to Maine on the _Morrigan_ , then travel to Europe from a ship there -, people left to retire for the night. Soon, it was just Haytham and I.

A book was in my hands, one I'd read once before. It'd been a while since I'd been able to read in the study - in the _building_. Haytham was going over some papers, and all was peaceful for the time.

"Do you want to go?" Haytham asked. I looked at him, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. "To Europe, I mean. The colonies are all you know, and I'm aware that you are quite close to some people here."

Did I want to go? For once, I didn't want to leave everything behind. I certainly didn't want to think about what I would write to Connor. But, I'd be with Haytham and Shay, and Ippolita would be far closer - no matter where in Europe we ended up.

"I'm a Templar. I'll go wherever I'm of most use." I said carefully.

"But do you want to go _personally?_ " Haytham clarified.

I sighed, closing the book. "I like it here," I started. "But it's dangerous to stay here. I've done what I intended to - the colonial rite that _I'm_ a part of is civil with the colonial Brotherhood. You, Shay, and Connor are all alive - so are Tommy, Lee, and Pitcairn. William died naturally. The war… the war is what it is." I glanced away. "Whatever happens, I've done more in the few years I've been here than I ever could have _dreamed_ of doing in my time. And I'm content with that."

Haytham sat still a moment, before rising and coming over to sit beside me. "Courtney, I-" He stopped, then started again. "You're happy? Being a Templar?"

I nodded. "More than I ever would have imagined." It wasn't a lie - before the little adventure I'd been sent on thanks to that Piece of Eden, I would have always picked the Assassins. "You have no idea how grateful I am that I got the opportunity."

The hint of a smile tugged at his lips, and pride glinted in his eyes. "And I am grateful to have you." The expression dropped after a moment and he leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "There is a problem, however."

My eyebrow rose. "I thought there were a few more than one."

"Yes," He said. "But one that I haven't discussed with anyone yet." A sigh left him before he continued. "Charles. I worry that he might not be ideal for whatever might come should something happen to me."

I said nothing, and he must have taken it as silent agreement as he continued. "While Charles is passionate, his temper is worrying."

"As yours can be." I said plainly.

The withering look he sent me was more than enough to say what he thought of the comment. "There's a reason he couldn't compete with Washington for the position of commander in chief, and it's his lack of foresight and that damnable tendency to start up arguments and fights wherever he can."

"You want to replace him." I stated.

"I'm unsure who should take his place." He admitted.

"Weeks or Shay, maybe?" Weeks was still a mystery to me, but he seemed trustworthy - _seemed_ \- and responsible. Shay I trusted, and he was experienced in leading. If nothing else, I liked them both more than Lee. Polite though he'd been to me, I knew very well how unstable he was and would be.

"I don't know. I suppose during our stay in Europe I'll have time to decide." He said.


	52. Chapter 52: Days and Weeks

When everyone woke the next day, we moved quickly to get our belongings together and to make a plan of action. It was agreed Haytham would go with Charles and Tommy, the latter of whom would be "arranging for" some supplies for the short voyage to Maine to be delivered to a warehouse in Boston.

We managed to set off before anyone showed up to the manor, luckily. Our two parties separated, and we made for Boston.  
Shay, Weeks, and I traveled most of the day, not even stopping to eat until the sun had gone down - and then we only cooked over a rather tiny fire; the last thing we wanted was to be found by a squad of soldiers. After we'd settled down a bit and Shay had drifted off, Weeks and I sat and talked quietly.

"So, you've been with the Order since you were young?" I asked.

"Around your age - you have just a tiny headstart on me." He paused, then continued with a laugh in his voice. "Well, that and the favor of the Grandmaster."

I scoffed. "I was just useful for a while and he got attached to my shining personality."

"Very attached, evidently; if you hadn't noticed, three out of four of the people coming along with the Grandmaster have been a part of the Order for decades. You? Just a few years." He said.

"Well, I've only been _alive_ for about two decades." I pointed out with a smirk.

"You are…?" He trailed off - an unspoken question.

"I turn twenty-one this July." I answered.

"Huh. I'd thought you were a bit older - mid-twenties, maybe. I suppose your work has aged you a bit." He said.

"That and my lineage. My father never did look terribly young." I said.

"And you take after him more than your mother?" He asked.

My shoulders shrugged. "More or less. The only thing I got from her is her height - accent, too, I suppose. The rest, you can thank my father."

"Interesting." He fell silent a moment, studying the dark woods around us. "So I assume you haven't seen them in some time?"

"No. I don't intend to see them again, honestly." I answered.

His tone grew gentler. "Pardon me for asking, but have they passed on?"

My inhale was slow and deep. "They're gone, yes. I won't be seeing them ever again - and I'm at peace with that."

He hummed. I glanced over at him. "So what about your family, Weeks? Or did you just… pop into existence, parents be damned?"

He chuckled. "I'm afraid my family passed quite a while ago. They taught me to be independent, and those lessons got me through some very… difficult times."

"You loved them?" I asked.

"Of course." He answered. "You didn't love yours?"

I hesitated. "They weren't around enough to really _be_ loved."

He said nothing in response, apparently thinking over my words.

The next few days passed similarly to the first; Shay would fall asleep, Weeks and I would talk, one of us would keep watch, the other would sleep, then Shay would take the last watch of the night. Weeks was good conversation, if still frustratingly secretive. He did more listening than talking - but he was certainly good at talking anyway, always deflecting my questions and going off on short tangents I couldn't quite steer back to the original question. Frustrating, but I'd used the same tactic far too many times to hold it against him. It gave me some insight as to how it felt, if nothing else.

The journey to Boston was short and oddly relaxing - though it was doubtful the long voyage we'd be going on in just a short time would be quite so nice.


	53. Chapter 53: Betrayal

We arrived in Boston around midday. Settling into the _Morrigan_ for the night took no time at all, and soon I was off on my own to meet up with the others.

"Where's that damned warehouse?" I muttered. Tommy had to have chosen the most obscure, isolated building in the entire city to store the supplies in - else I'd have found it by now.

Wandering around the docks for a couple hours wasn't fun - the smell of rotting fish and the weary glances from strangers did nothing to help me focus on hunting down the warehouse. Each building I peeked into seemed to be filled with fish or halfway-built ships or ammunitions - where on earth was the one Tommy'd chosen?

Peeking into a filthy window, I nearly passed it by in frustration when I saw a familiar form inside - Lee?

A closer look, color distorted by the dirtied glass, revealed he was slumped against a barrel. Was he really napping? No, he wasn't the type. An uneasy feeling settled over me.

It took all of five seconds to reach one of the doors to the building, slipping in with no one the wiser. I made no move to hide my footsteps as I approached where I'd seen Lee.

Looking down at the floor,my dread proved true; a trail of blood was on the ground, starting from another entrance and leading towards where I'd seen Lee.

As I got closer, I heard shuffling and heavy, labored breathing, and Lee tried to back away, only succeeding in knocking the barrel over. "Stay back, damn you!"

"Lee? Lee, it's me - Courtney." I called out. Was that a cut on his head?

After a brief silence, he squinted up at me, furiously wiping away the blood that dripped from a nasty gash in his forehead. "Courtney? Have you seen Master Kenway?"

"No." I paused, looking over the injury he'd taken. "What happened?"

"I haven't a clue - Master Kenway, Hickey, and myself walked in and we were ambushed. Someone must have gotten word - I don't know how, with the speed we acted." He explained.

How had someone known they'd be here? "Are they gone?"

"I couldn't say. But I pray they aren't, if only for Master Kenway's sake." He struggled to rise, but I gently forced him back down.

"I'll take a look around to see what I can find, and then I'll go get help. Here," I pulled a handkerchief out. "I'm no doctor, but this can at least help to slow the bleeding a bit." As soon as he'd taken the cloth from my hand, I was up, following the trail of blood back to the other entrance.

"I'll live," Lee called after me, "But move quickly, Courtney!"

It wasn't difficult to piece together a rough idea of what had happened. The trio had walked in from the other side, then been attacked. Blood was spattered on the ground and walls, and the clearest trail led back to Lee. Pacing around, carefully examining the splatters revealed another - heading back out the way they'd come. A couple bodies of men I didn't know lied lifeless outside the door, one stabbed and the other shot. The blood led me past them, though I spotted a few more as I went. Who would clean this mess up, I wondered?

The trail was difficult to follow, the person evidently having decided that whatever wound they'd taken could handle the exertion of climbing up walls and vaulting over crates. But was it Haytham I was getting closer to, or Tommy?

My question was answered when I spotted navy blue - the cape Haytham wore around his shoulders. A rip was in it, still-wet blood staining the torn edges. He couldn't be far - if he was still alive.

My heartbeat quickened as I followed the blood trail with renewed vigor, cape clutched in one of my hands. He had to be around here somewhere. He couldn't die. Not yet.

I ducked into a building, -yet another abandoned warehouse in what had to be a dead district of the damned things - looking at the drops of dark red speckling the floor as I walked. Please, _please_ , let him be alive.

A quiet sob left me when a heap of navy blue clothing came into my view. Haytham's still form was on the floor, face twisted in pain. My hands shook a bit as I reached out to touch his arm.

"Haytham?" My voice was trembling, weak. "Oh Gods, please be okay. Where're you hurt? Is it bad?"  
He grunted as I helped him sit up. "My back- my shoulder. He tried to go for the heart, but clearly he must have missed." Haytham ground out as I pressed his cape to the wound. It would have to do for now.

"Who attacked you?" I asked.

"Thomas." He said, the name sounding like poison.

I froze. Tommy? As much as I didn't want to believe it, it only made sense. There was no other way someone might have known we were leaving - not unless Pitcairn had betrayed us. But no, Pitcairn wouldn't, I thought. Tommy, though? All anyone needed to sway his hand was money, it seemed. And since his "employer" was leaving him behind, it wouldn't take much to convince him.

"Is he still here?" I asked.

"He left moments ago, God only knows why. Perhaps he thought I'd bleed out." Haytham said.

I straightened up. "I'll be back."

Haytham's hand grabbed my wrist. "Courtney, be careful."

I nodded. "Just don't die before I get back to help you to the _Morrigan_."

He returned the nod, and I began my search of the house for Thomas.


	54. Chapter 54: Departure

I stepped carefully around the building, footsteps near silent; it didn't take long to find Thomas as I slunk around. Rather, he found me.

The sound of a pistol being cocked behind me sent goosebumps along my skin.

My brow furrowed and I turned slowly, anger and sadness alike bubbling up. "Tommy?"

The man before me grinned, leaning against a crate and raising his pistol until it was level with my eyes. "Heya, girlie, fancy meeting you here!"  
I floundered for words for a moment, an indescribable clench of my heart causing a heavy pain in my chest. "Why are you betraying us?"

His grin faltered only a bit, and he explained, "The folks chasing you and the boss man are paying _real_ nice. I'd be a fool to say no."

My face twisted in rage, and he scoffed. "Aw, don't look at me like that, sweetheart. I know I've gotta kill you, but it ain't nothing personal - tell you what, one last drink?" His free hand snatched a opened bottle of liquor off the crate beside him, and he held it out to me.

Thomas, one of my oldest friends here, someone I'd once trusted with my life, was holding a gun to my head. Truth be told, I wasn't surprised so much as angry with myself. It'd been clear Thomas cared more for money than anything, and my own optimism had caused me to overlook him. A foolish mistake - but one that I would rectify.

Begrudgingly, I took the bottle from his hands, studying it carefully as I considered my next move.

"Old Haytham is gonna be next, you know. They're _real_ miffed with him - _lots_ more than they are with you. Hell, I could probably let you go so long as you still made for Europe and never came back, you know!" The barrel of the pistol was shifting slightly as he spoke, gesturing with it while keeping it pointed either at my head or my heart, "Thing is, I do what I'm told to do when the pay's good, and the folks paying me said you need to die." The barest hint of sadness shone in his eyes. "Just good business sense, is all."

I took a sip from the bottle, still thinking. "And you'll go after Haytham next?"

He hummed his confirmation.

"You'd be dead before you even had the chance, you know." I said. Haytham was lying half-dead on the first floor, he wouldn't stand a chance if Tommy went back to finish the job.

"I'll take my chances." Thomas said dryly.

With a slow, deep breath, my fingers gripped the neck of the bottle. "No, you won't." I murmured.

He leaned in, smirk on his face. "What was that-"

The end of his sentence was cut off by a solid _thud_ and the crack of glass, shattering to the floor. He reeled back, gun swinging wildly in the air as he clutched at his chin and swore.

Before he was able to recover, I leaped on him, elbowing and kneeing him and slashing with the now-broken bottle as my free hand struggled to wrench the pistol from his grasp.

In seconds I'd ripped the gun from his hands, rolled away, and stood up, aiming the weapon at him. "You won't get the chance to kill him. I won't let you."

He stared blankly at the gun, after he rolled onto his hands and knees working his jaw. "Huh. Guess I'm out of shape." He said softly.

We stared at each other for a heartbeat, little rivulets of blood dribbling down his neck from his chin. His leg shifted, readying himself to lunge towards me, and in an instant, my finger had pulled the trigger, and Thomas fell to the floor.

Things were quiet after that, save for my heartbeat. The corpse on the floor was still, and after a few seconds of staring at it, I dropped to my knees. It had been years since I'd felt genuinely, thoroughly sick from killing someone, but this was different. There'd always been sadness, but this… Thomas was my friend. I had countless memories of laughing and joking around with him in taverns and on the streets. It took far too long just to move myself away from his body, and to leave the warehouse with Haytham supporting himself on my shoulder, quietly assuring me I'd done what was needed.

I reached the _Morrigan_ later than I should have, disoriented and uncomfortable. I could barely find my way around the city, I was in such a daze. The firstmate rushed to help me and Haytham as soon as I stumbled on the deck, asking if I was okay, or if I wanted help. A familiar voice said something to him as my head shook. Haytham was carried away by two men, and I was guided across the deck, to the captain's cabin.

Steady hands forced me into a chair, and Shay asked something I didn't catch.

"Pardon?" My voice was small, prompting more worry from Shay.

"What happened?" He repeated.

Eyes looking away from him, the answer slipped from my lips. "I killed Thomas."

He didn't move. "What?"  
"He tried to kill Haytham and Lee - he was being paid by someone who wanted us all dead. I shot him. I _killed_ him." I told him.

His shoulders slumped, and his hands slid to my upper arms. "Oh, no." He said softly. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Shay, I just… I didn't even think- he moved and I-" The words trailed off, stopped in their tracks by the bitter taste rising up in my mouth.

"I know." He said. "I know." He pulled me up and towards him, and I gratefully accepted the hug.

"Shay, what if I have to kill more people I know - more people _we_ know?" Thoughts of all the people I'd worked with and became friends with flashed through my mind.

"Then I'll be around. You're strong enough to bear that weight - I know you are." He assured me. "But don't worry about that now. We're leaving this behind - at least for a while."

My nod wasn't very sure, just a simple acknowledgement more than anything. As soon as a couple crewmen came back with Lee in tow, we'd leave for Maine. Then, we'd be setting off for Europe, and my biggest concerns would be nursing Haytham back to health, keeping in touch with Shay, and keeping myself in shape.

My thoughts turned to Connor and Ippolita. Would I ever see Connor again? What would he end up accomplishing while I was gone? Would he be alright? Is it possible Ippolita and I would see each other? Once the English Channel was the only thing separating us, what was stopping us, really? How would I explain the situation? What would she be doing, once she reunited with us?

As Shay began to work at his desk, leaving me to my thoughts, the questions just kept coming. With time, I supposed, I'd receive the answers.


	55. Epilogue

_Connor,_

 _I apologize for rushing off so quickly without so much as a goodbye, but circumstances were dire - and fast-changing. Haytham survived an attempt on his life thanks to me, though he's now injured. Tommy Thomas, a friend I once would have liked to introduce you to, betrayed us. As much as I hate to admit it, it doesn't surprise me. He attempted to kill Haytham, Shay, Weeks, Lee, and myself on behalf of the dissenters , but I killed him. I don't really want to think about it._

 _Haytham, Shay, Weeks, Lee, and I are all leaving the colonies. We're leaving America. There's too much turmoil among the rite here, and Haytham is too injured to remain without ample protection - protection beyond hired guns and the four of us that he trusts. I can't tell you where we'll be going, or if or when we'll be returning. Lee has said he doesn't want us followed, and I have to agree. If anyone were to find this letter, someone with ill intentions towards I or my companions, it would be unlikely to end well._

 _Speaking of Lee, I hadn't heard anything of him in some time - I didn't even know if he was alive or not. But he is, and he's… he's not well, not internally. I'm refraining from speaking of it with Haytham for the time being, if only because of his injury, but I don't believe that Lee is fit to take over should something happen to Haytham. With any luck at all, Haytham will be able to see that, and replace him with someone else. Shay, maybe. I trust Shay's judgement far more than Lee's, and he has experience with leading to some extent. I'm unsure he'd like the position much, though. Weeks, as little as I know about him, would be preferable to Lee. Gods, anyone but Lee._

 _I'm not sure what we'll be doing once we arrive. Gods only know a few European rites are a bit angry with Haytham over something. I can't be terribly specific, as, again, I've no idea who else might see this. Hopefully, Haytham will recover, and we'll be able to return to reestablish the Order. I'm unsure._

 _Connor, I know we didn't talk much near the end of my time in the colonies but… I just want you to know that I care about you greatly. Please, whatever happens, just… live well, be happy, and don't wait for me to come back. Do what you must to accomplish your goals. Make the Brotherhood flourish. Do whatever you can for your people. Take care of the people in Davenport Homestead. I can promise nothing from this point forward, but know that I'm going to miss you._

 _For now, this is goodbye, Ratonhnhaké;ton._

 _-Courtney Lynn_

The paper crinkled gently in his hands as his fingers tensed, his shoulders slumping. Connor's fingers traced over the fine, solid black lines of the writing on the page, committing it to memory. There was a heaviness in his heart; he'd miss Courtney greatly - doubly so if this letter truly would be the last he ever heard of her.

Gingerly, he tucked the letter back into its envelope, and placed that in a drawer of the desk. Her desk. His desk now, he supposed. He looked over the items that had been left, how much she'd left behind. He remembered the last time he'd seen her, working diligently at her desk as he'd said he'd return in about a week. The little hum of acknowledgement and some remark she'd made about being careful not to get shot. His scoff as he'd firmly said "Goodbye, Courtney" and left.

What would he have said if he'd known that would be the last he saw of her? What would he have done differently? Even he wasn't sure. Now, though, she was gone. Perhaps not permanently, but he couldn't say.

" _Don't wait for me to come back."_

He wouldn't. But he would hope until the day he died.


	56. Author's Note

Sorry for leaving this hanging for so long, a combination of life (school, graduation, an 1800+ mile move, falling in love, work, etc.) and fixing plot in preparation for Book III made me take _ages_ to publish these last few chapters. That said, I already have a good idea of the plot for III, and will be working on it. I've needed another project to work on for a couple months now, and I missed writing for theses characters and this plot something fierce. For now, enjoy the completion of this book!


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